


Chasing After Our Ends

by blonded



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Recall, Slow Burn, all ships other than gency are slight!ships, not really canon but follows canon lore, tsundere! genji lmao, young angela meets young genji
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-11-07 02:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blonded/pseuds/blonded
Summary: in which Angela has a past that chases her to the present, and a future threatening to ruin it all together.





	1. Chapter 1

Angela never really appreciated the appeal of cherry blossoms. She wonders why nobody ever came to like green trees as much as pink ones. One can see green trees anywhere and everywhere, isn’t that the point in liking something; which is that you can see it all the time? She came to learn that the answer was in the question itself.

 

(“It’s because they’re rare, honey,” Mrs Ziegler had once explained, stroking Angela’s hair softly.) Angela frowns at the memory, kicking the stump of a cherry blossom tree with a short stubby leg. Sure, it is pretty, but when her mother added that green trees were just not as a pretty sight to look at, Angela decides she very much likes plain old green trees more than stupid pink flowers. It isn’t because she hates her mother, but someone has to defend the underdog. Plus, her mother is taking a long time buying sushi, and Angela really has nothing else to do other than to vent her boredom on a cherry blossom tree. It is still rather early in the morning. The only person that has passed by her in this small side-street of Hanamura is the friendly old man who lugs a barrel of fresh seafood every day at this hour.

 

The air is still dripping in morning dew, giving off a cool, almost chilly feel on Angela’s skin. She locks her hands behind her back nonchalantly, yet patting her foot against the ground impatiently. _Tap tap tap._ She starts to count backwards as if it would make time pass faster. _Ten thousand, nine thousand, eight thousand…_ The sounds of Mrs Ziegler speaking in halting, broken Japanese with an excited eagerness makes her sigh inwardly. Her mother, being so keen to pick up a new language, will practice with the chatty fishmonger for quite a while. This isn’t very good news for Angela. _Five thousand, four thousand, three thousand…_

 

All of a sudden, she hears a string of Japanese that is in fact not her mother’s nor the fishmonger’s, causing her to jump. She turns to her side on instinct, finding a boy standing right beside her, donned in a _yukata_ (she wonders how he’s not cold). He looks at her curiously, black bangs falling over his forehead messily. And he’s short; a head shorter than she was at most. Gaining her lost confidence from this, she looks back at him square in the eye, feeling a little smug at the height difference. After all, she’s thirteen. She’s as grown up as it gets.

 

He repeats the same Japanese line, but she simply shrugs at him. “Sorry,” she says,” I don’t understand you.”

 

“Oh,” the boy says, looking mildly surprised. “I thought you knew Japanese. Your mama comes here often and speaks it.”

 

“But horribly! Even I can tell,” Angela snorts, eliciting a short chuckle from the boy. She looks at the boy, feeling an unspoken power dynamics due to their difference in height. “I’m more surprised that you know English.”

 

"My father, he teaches  _anija_ and I.” The boy says. “ I wanted to ask why you were kicking the the cherry blossom tree.”

 

Angela flushes, embarrassed that this small boy saw her throw a mini tantrum. But his eyes held no contempt. He had the face of a child’s innocence, looking just a little younger than Angela herself. “Because nobody likes green trees,” she blurts out without thinking, trying to play it off by folding her arms together in indifference. The boy tilts his head, confused. He opens his mouth looking like he wanted to ask more questions, when angry yells of Japanese punctures the quiet air from a distance. The boy startles. He flashes Angela a sheepish grin and a peace sign before running off around a bend. Shortly afterwards, when Mrs Ziegler finally comes out from the shop, a much taller boy decked in the same _yukata_ and a loose ponytail runs straight pass them, grumbling angrily under his breath.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Japan is a blur of pretty words and quiet crowded places. Angela constantly feels the awed stares at her out-of-place blonde hair and baby blue eyes. Sometimes she soaks in it like praise, and other days she shys away from the attention, depending on her mood. She still can’t get used to it although she’s been here for almost a month. However, it isn’t so bad. Japan is definitely optimal for her to spend hours pouring over her father’s medical records. She’s also begun to appreciate o-cha, although it keeps her awake way past her bedtime. Stretching her hands towards the solid blackness of her ceiling, she traces various human organs by memory until succumbing to sleep.

 

She never caught on to the language entirely, only learning certain words and phrases by ear. She didn’t find a point in learning Japanese when she was leaving in a week or so. Besides, her English wasn’t the best either. ‘Advocate’ was pretty much the only big word she knew because of her admittedly silly quest to defend green trees. In fact, she could not wait to go back to Germany and have long talks with Torbjörn about his innovations. Long story short, she is quite homesick. She misses the usual staple of _Bratwurst_ and even _Leberkäse_ (although she initially wasn’t particularly fond of it). The daily rawness of fish here invited her to a bit of a culture shock. Her mother, on the contrary, was extremely adventurous in this drastic switch in palate. Angela is up early to watch the rising sun when her mother tells her to get dressed, because they are going back to that fish shop. Angela isn’t one for arguing, picking up her coat and following her mom into the breeze of Japanese winter.

 

She’s half hoping the small, scruffy boy would come back here again, which is why she opted to wait outside instead of the warm indoors. She won’t lie; he did intrigue her in his mannerisms, and of course, his above average skills of speaking English for such a small boy. She went to the playground near the house once, and kids her age just stared blankly back at her when she tried to converse with them. She never went back. It was just too energy-consuming to interact with people who did not understand you.

 

Angela swears she didn’t even hear him come up next to her when he greets with a loud ‘yo!’. She smiles back, ruffled by his unannounced entrance nonetheless. The air was equally cold today, and she notices that he’s wearing an extra layer over his _yukata_ , although he still has wooden clogs on.

 

“Why’d you run off that time?” She asks, straightening her coat absentmindedly.

 

“Ah,  _anija_ was looking for me. Father wants us to take lessons together. But I do not like them.” He talks in a very straightforward manner.

 

“Why don’t you like them?”

 

“Boring,” he scrunches up his nose as if he smelt something bad. “I am running away from _anija_. He is looking for me now.”

 

“Lessons are fun!” Angela says, puffing up her chest proudly. “My papa is also giving me lessons hear about the human body. But he is here in Japan for work now, so I have a holiday!”

 

The boy exclaims a Japanese word in response, which she can only guess was something of awe and good-natured envy. His eyes suddenly light up, remembering something. Reaching into the inner coat, he pulls out a crown of pink cherry blossom flowers.

 

“Pretty like you!” He declares, shoving it into her hands with a boyish grin. Angela couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from turning upwards.

 

“Thanks,” she says happily, albeit shyly. “Although it would be hypocritical of me to wear this.” The boy furrows his eyebrows, repeating the word he did not understand.

 

“I’m a green tree _advocate_ ,” she explains, proud that she sounded somewhat smart. “Wearing something like this proves that… that green trees are treated unfairly!” The boy nods eagerly, mouthing the word ‘advocate’ as he absorbs whatever Angela says without question. She feels a little embarrassed for having to justify this petty matter; considering that it was merely for her own entertainment to pass time. It was to her relief that the boy was anything but mocking.

 

“Will you be going to the festival on Monday?” He asks, as he peers leeringly at the corner of the street, worry etching on his face. He must be expecting his brother soon.

 

“What festival?”

 

“At the night market by the riverside!” He says excitedly. “You got to go! Its really g-“

 

“GENJI!” A voice thundered nearby, followed by frustrated Japanese sentences and loud footsteps. The boy startles in fear, as Angela feels massive deja-vu when he starts to run off at the opposite end.

 

“I never got your name!” She yells after him, before blinking in surprise when the boy nimbly climbs up a wall to the opposite street. “I’m Angela!”

 

“Its Genji!” He shouts back cheerfully, and disappears right when ponytail boy comes round the corner, only to ignore Angela’s presence and leap over the high wall like it was nothing, in hot pursuits of his younger brother.

 

Putting the cherry blossom crown on her head, she decides she will maybe learn Japanese after all.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Monday apparently was just right to go to the festival. They were due to leave the night of the very next day. When Angela timidly told her mother about the festival, Mrs Ziegler gawked back at her in surprise as her daughter had not once been willing to mingle in such events during their stay here. “Of course… of course, dear, we can go,” she says, and so they went.

 

It is by the riverside, as Genji had told her. The water sparkles small diamonds under the moonlight while surrounded by the soft colourful hues emitted by lanterns. Countless stalls selling street food lined up around the parade square, and Angela’s mouth waters at the sight of takoyaki lined up on sticks, drizzled with dark sauce and mayonnaise. Kids like her dressed up in small kimonos, linking arms as they skipped around together. Angela looks on with a twinge pulling at her heartstrings. Edging closer to the stalls as she lets go of her mother’s hand, she watches children catch fish in a large basin with pocket-sized, paper-thin nets. One of them, donning an entirely black outerwear and a demon-faced mask tucked neatly at the cheek facing Angela, catches fish one by one at amazing speed. It is apparently a great feat, as the other kids stop catching their own to watch him toss them up without the net breaking in two. The boy lets out a loud guffaw proudly, and when his face turns, Angela sees a huge grin plastered on his somewhat familiar face.

 

Oh.

 

The boy, whom she now recognises as Genji, is totally engrossed in the game, speaking Japanese quickly in a cheeky tone as he continues to add to his fish collection. Angela notices the stall owner glaring at the small boy, irritated that the profits of the game are not to his favour. He takes a small clock from his stall and shoves it in Genji’s face, saying something that Angela can guess is ‘time’s up’. He simply shrugs and smiles smugly at the stall owner, grabbing his plastic bags of fish and walking out of the crowd of children now eager to play the game as well. He walks her way and she doesn’t know what to do. Angela suddenly feels a wash of awkwardness spreading to the tips of her fingers. She doesn’t know how to react now. Does she go up to him and say hi? Or will she just be bothering him? She doesn’t know if he will want to talk to her. But he probably will, right? We are friends, aren’t we? Why is she even contemplating about an eleven year old? Oh, don’t be such a _coward_ —

 

“Angela-san?” Genji says in surprise before Angela could even do or say anything. She opts for a small smile and a nervous wave of her hand, only to cringe internally at herself.

 

“Hi, Genji,” she says, still slightly withdrawn and hesitant. “Just Angela is fine.”

 

“Angela!” Genji repeats after her, smiling boyishly, giving her name a slight change in pronunciation due to his heavy Japanese accent. “You came!”

 

“Yes, I—“ she barely says before he grabs her hand and breaks into a full sprint away from the crowds. In the flurry, she looks for her mother between the curtains of people weaving in and out of each other, only to find Mrs Ziegler beaming back at her while waving her hand; a silent approval for Angela to play with her newfound friend. She looks back in front of her, Genji still sprinting ahead as the wind howled softly near her cold-bitten ears. With a deep breath, Angela allows herself to relax.

 

He leads her to the river where the sound of the festival and people dissolves into ambience. She watches as he releases the fishes he caught into the river one by one with a face of contentment.

 

“The stall uncle got the fishes from the river,” he says absentmindedly. “They should go back to where they belong.” After all the fishes are safely in the gentle lapping of the river, the two of them sit on a log resting on the riverbank. Angela gazes at the river in quiet interest, and her eyes look back at her with the same expression, against the backdrop of the moon’s watery reflection. Unnaturally round and bright that night.

 

“Do you like my oni mask?” Genji shifts the demon mask from his left cheek to fit snugly on his face. “I made it myself!”

 

“Scary,” Angela replies, allowing herself to smile wider. “As scary as the witches during halloween.”

 

Genji looks pleased with her answer, removing the mask and turning back to the river. Angela looks up at the gleaming moon wistfully. “I’m leaving for Germany tomorrow.”

 

Genji turns his head to face her in an instant, groaning out childlike complaints in Japanese. “What? So fast?” He says, switching to English. 

 

Angela smiles, internally stunned at herself for feeling sad at the thought. She had been looking forward to go back to Germany for so long, and when the day is finally coming, she did not expect it to be so hard to leave Japan behind.

 

“Yes,” she says.

 

“Oh…” he trails away, sounding somewhat dejected. But then, he suddenly perks up. “Do not worry, Angela,” he says, going back to his usually cheerful self. “ _Anija_ told me a secret!”

 

“Your- your brother?” Angela raises her eyebrows. “What secret?”

 

“The secret of the moon river,” Genji says, eyes twinkling excitedly. “If you want to meet someone again, you make a wish to the moon on the river, and you will meet the person again.”

 

Angela smiles wryly. This is simply a ploy by Genji’s older brother to play Genji’s innocence with childish games. However, she decides to humour him. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s make a wish.”

 

She stands up right at the edge of the riverbank, hands clasped and eyes closed, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from lifting upwards, amused by what she was doing. Opening the slits of her eyes a little bit, she peeks at Genji who immediately gets up and follows suit. Trying to suppress her smile she edges nearer to the river with small steps. Opening her eyes, she looks at the reflection of the moon, and it looks back at her with the same expression. Unnaturally round and bright.

 

At that split second, the world spins miles a minute. She feels her heart plunge into her gut as the wind is knocked out of her. Her foot had missed the ground, and her skin turns stone cold before her entire being plummets into the icy water, arms flailing in a desperate fear.

 

She gasps for air that is not there, and for light that would not reach her eyes. Water fills her agape mouth instantly. All she sees is an inky darkness swirling around her like a black hole, barely hearing Genji’s muted screams of her name. “Don’t die on me” he seems to shout desperately, but she is not sure anymore. Angela tries to say anything back, but it felt as if a hand was clenching her voice-box, ridding her off any form of noise. She attempts to swim, a distraught thrashing of limbs, but if anything, she just sinks further, deeper into an abyss of nothingness. She gasps for air, choking at the lack thereof, struggling in vain. Genji’s screams start to ring louder in her ears, evolving into ghostly shrieking. A chilling, ethereal voice sings.

 

_Moon river, wider than a mile._

 

She shuts her eyes, afraid, hands pressed against her ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound. The darkness starts to crackle, burning at the edges until Angela finds herself staring in horror at an enormous fire. The heat scorches her skin, but leaves no scar. Blocks of rubble crashes down at her feet, as buildings she did not notice were there start to crumble at a disastrous rate. The rattling of machine guns and explosive gunfire causes panic to seep into her veins, turning her blood into ice. Fragments of the scene before her disappear and reappear like a pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Before she could comprehend the situation before her, Angela is paralysed. Bile rises up her throat and threatens to rise even further. The world spins and spins.

 

_Crossing it in style someday_

 

Engulfed in tongues of flames, were her mother and father, shrieking so painfully that Angela’s chest hurt inexplicably. Eyes wide, terror-stricken. She screams hysterically, an arm outstretched to reach for them, legs sprinting until they hurt but she couldn’t move any closer. They were unreachable, dissolving in their unending pain, screams pierced like shards of glass in Angela’s head.

 

_My dream maker, heartbreaker_

 

“ _Mommy…!_ ” She shrieks in anguish, arm trying to grasp for her mother who was unreachable. Unreachable. Unreachable. A green dragon envelops her sight, fire blowing from its mouth; the origin of the burning disaster in front of her. Chunks of its skin, however, were raw and bloody from what it had created, scorched to the bone. The fire continues to eat up its scales like paper.

 

Unreachable. Unreachable.

 

_Wherever you’re going,_

 

The dragon cried out in pain, destroying itself in the searing flames it had created. And for a brief moment, it looks at her in the eyes.

 

Unreachable.

 

_I’m going the same._

 

“Mom!” She gasps, eyes flicking open in shock. Her back drenched in hot sweat, with her arm reaching for the ceiling. Angela quickly retracts it, subconsciously wiping away tears that were already trailing down her cheek. She sits up on her bed, trying to control her breathing. It was just a dream. Slowing her breath, she starts to count backwards. _Ten thousand, nine thousand, eight thousand_. Angela tiredly tucks her hair behind her ears and walks to the toilet in a dreary daze. She blearily peers at herself in the mirror. _Three thousand, two thousand, one thousand._

 

“I’m twenty-seven,” she says to herself, fragments of why she felt like she was thirteen quickly dissociating from her memory. She shakes her head. “I’m twenty-seven and I am in Overwatch.” She repeats to herself, feeling embarrassingly stupid. Gathering her bearings, she gets ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh my first fic so forgive me pls :v
> 
> song inspiration: moon river by frank ocean


	2. Chapter 2

Angela will admit she’s tired, even without the nightmares. Every single day, someone comes in with every kind of concern. More often than not, it will be McCree. Chuckling sheepishly, he’ll stand by the door of her office and give a guilty smile. Angela does not even need to look anymore to know it is him. She supposes he’s fine, though. He does bring her packed lunches from the cafeteria because she’s too busy to go there herself. For that, she forgives him when he comes in with a wound that could have been totally avoided.

 

(“Swear on it, Angela, was worth it this time,” he will say quickly. “It distracts ‘em by thinking they have the upper-hand, and I hit ‘em when they least expect.”

 

“Whatever you say, Jesse,” she will reply as if on cue, with a slightly fond smile.)

 

But today. Today she is too tired. Even for McCree. The Swiss Headquarters is home, but home is way too cold, and she is way too deprived of caffeine. The first one who sees her is Ana, who she bumps into right when she opens the door of her room. Ana stares at her, and a tight smile forms on her pressed lips.

 

“You look worse for wear.”

 

“Good morning to you too,” Angela replies wryly. She can practically feel her eyebags dragging the skin above her cheeks down. Frankly, she can feel her whole body dragging her down. The feeling of exhaustion weighs like a bag of bricks.

 

“Something on your mind?” Ana asks.

 

“Bad dream. Generic losing parents and Omnic war dream,” Angela says. The same nightmare most people probably have. Most ‘generic’ nightmares don’t consist of times in Hanamura, but Angela chooses not to mention that.

 

Ana just nods, not asking any further. Angela wishes she wore something warmer. HQ is really just too damn cold for her liking. She makes a mental note to tell Jack or Gabe, but she knows she’ll likely forget. When the cafeteria doors open, McCree is already standing in front of them, jumping a bit in surprise. Ana rolls her eyes, slapping him on the back warmly before walking in, making him wince in pain.

 

“That woman can’t control her strength,” he complains, handling Angela a mug. It is filled to the brim with coffee. Bitter and black, just how she likes it. “Was gonna bring it to your office for you. I’m surprised you even came here. Usually you just rot in there.”

 

Angela stops short. He is right. She hasn’t stepped a foot in the cafeteria for months. The dream must’ve really made her short-circuit. She shrugs in reply, muttering a ‘thanks’ as she turns around and makes her way to her office. McCree scuttles after her, giving her quizzical stares. She stares back in defiance. “What?”

 

“You’re not bein’ yourself.” He says. “Y’know, if you wanted to, you could talk to me.”

 

“Well, I’d like to talk to you about smoking,” she says, nudging him as he scoffs.

 

“Are you tryna turn the tables now—“

 

“Jesse McCree,” she says in a slow voice, mocking his accent. “Did you know smoking is extremely bad for you?”

 

“God damn, Angela, bye!” McCree scowls but with no heat in his words, maundering back to the cafeteria. Angela lets out a chuckle, not before sighing wearily before entering the medical wards. She likes the guy, and appreciates his concern, but he would keep shooting out questions that had answers she did not want to think about. Some other day, maybe. But not today.

 

Reinhardt is lying on two beds pushed together because he is undeniably too big for one. Angela looks at him and all his snoring glory in amusement. He looked almost comical, being wrapped in so many bandages and a cast around his huge torso.

 

“Wake up,” she says in German, and he replies with a gurgled snore. She has half a mind to shake him awake, but decides against it. He could use the rest. It was yesterday when he was leaning on Jack as they hobbled in, tired and broken in different places. The poor Commander also looked like he was going to collapse under all that weight, but somehow still sustained position until they got to her office from the landing point. She was thoroughly impressed.

 

(“Suspected broken ribs,” Jack grunts, tilting his head at the groaning Reinhardt. “He was too enthusiastic in charging into enemy territory. As usual.”

 

“He has suffered worse than this. He’ll be up and ready within a day or two,” Angela says, already pushing two beds together. “Be thankful for the wonders of modern medicine.”

 

“He could use the leave, he’s getting old,” Jack replies, tone all serious. He pushes the entrance door open. “Even if he insists, keep him here.”)

 

Angela wasn’t very happy about that. For one, she knows that Reinhardt will be up and begging to leave the ward. He is also ridiculously loud, which is the exact opposite of what Angela craves as of late. God forbid what will happen to her if she doesn’t listen to Jack, however. She purses her lips in annoyance. If Gabriel was the one giving the orders, she’d throw Reinhardt out right now. Not that Gabe was a pushover, but he simply doesn’t give a shit when it comes to things like this. Angela shakes her head. She shouldn’t be comparing the both of them, though she finds herself doing it more often than not.

 

She has to admit that it was initially weird to take orders from Jack. Gabe had always been the one in charge. When the news broke that Jack was now Strike Commander, she remembered the very first time she saw the sliver of a crack between the walls Jack built around himself. For the very first time, he was vulnerable, even though it was only for a fraction of a second. She can’t forget the fear she saw in his eyes when he stood at the entrance of her office that very night. Terrified of leading people whose loyalty then lay with another man. That is why she admires him for getting where he is today; Overwatch right behind him, and he carrying them on his shoulders. It was also then when she started to despise a part of Gabe; the part that created Blackwatch.

 

(‘It is necessary’ he had hissed at her, once, when she burst into his room, angry and impulsively unforgiving. ‘I know you will never agree with it, which is why I’m never asking you to join. But know this: it is everything you cannot do, Angela. It is everything Jack cannot do.’ )

 

What she hated was that he was right. Or maybe she just missed him being a part of them, even though he still was. It just didn’t feel the same.

 

She hears a grunt of discomfort, and immediately she turns to Reinhardt. The big man had awoken from his slumber, propping up pillows groggily so he can sit upright.

 

“You are awake,” she says in German. He waves a hand of indifference.

 

“I’ve had worse,” he replies in the same tongue with a loud guffaw. “Why aren’t I discharged yet?”

 

“That’s what I said. But Jack wants to keep you here.”

 

“WHAT?! BUT I CAN FIGHT! I AM ALL READY TO GO INTO THE BATTLEF-“

 

“Hush,” Angela can feel a headache coming. She gently pulls the blankets over Reinhardt’s legs. “Now, you rest here, no noise. Or I will call Ana and she will personally put you to sleep with that new dart she’s been experimenting on.”

 

Surprisingly, he does as he is told. Angela snorts internally. The leaders are Jack and Gabriel, but it is Ana who really rules with an iron fist. With Reinhardt subdued, she goes along her regular day of checking up on other patients and the mountainous load of paperwork. Occasionally Ana will drop by and help Angela out with some of the patients, but Angela knows that Ana is really taking time off a very tight schedule to help her. It just makes her feel as guilty as she is grateful.

 

After that day with the nightmare, she doesn’t get any more. Her sleep is just a restless, dreamless state until she realises she’s staring at the ceiling. She honestly doesn’t know if this is better. The days slowly crawl along, with McCree disappearing more often than usual lately. Blackwatch activities. Angela has to get coffee in the morning and lunch in the afternoon herself. Her petty thoughts curse out at Gabriel and Blackwatch and everything else. She distracts herself from the pit of empty loneliness forming in her gut by drowning herself in more work. Her breaks are spent chatting about Brigette with Reinhardt and occasionally Torbjörn when he is free. For that, she starts to appreciate Jack’s order. But that comes to an end. For at nights she is alone, tracing various human organs against the colour of her ceiling until she falls asleep. A thoroughly-tested successful method.

 

She is attending to an Overwatch outfield agent one day when McCree appears at the doorway. She is excited to see him. As much as she loves Reinhardt and Torbjörn, she misses McCree a whole lot more. He is sweaty and panting, looking anything but relaxed. Her eyes trail to the slick stream of blood trickling down his bicep. But before she can say anything, he beats her to it.

 

“Hey,” he calls her between breaths. “You’re needed in meeting room 04. It’s really urgent.”

 

 _As urgent as my patients? As urgent as your bleeding arm?_   Angela thinks, bemused. Nevertheless, she patches the outfield agent up and follows McCree out the door. As they walk through the hallway, she realises that he hasn’t been back in base for a month. He is clearly tired, clinging onto the cigar between his lips like a lifeline. His serape is lopsided, and he is missing his signature hat. Must’ve been one hell of a mission he came from.

 

“Now, look,” he says all of a sudden, stopping before the door to the meeting room. “Just tryna warn you beforehand, Ange. If you really can’t do it, don’t force yourself. Hell, I don’t expect you to do it.”

 

“What?” She asks, confused, but he does not reply. Instead he pushes the doors open. At the far end of the room, sits Jack (stoic, serious and looking somewhat worried) and Reyes (looking unsettled, but more or less indifferent). Ana is standing on Jack’s left, an expression of hesitation and doubt crossing her features when Angela walks in.

 

“What’s the matter, is someone hurt?” She asks immediately, judging by their downcast face. She turns to Gabriel, who looks the most impassive out of the three. “Gabe? Are you or any of your men hurt?”

 

“Not to worry, Mercy, we have no major casualties, not on our side, at least.” Jack says for the three of them.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Angela questions, growing impatient. She glares at Gabriel for answers, unspoken questions about McCree’s arm. He replies with a light scoff.

 

“Do you even know where McCree and I have been this past month?” He asks, and Angela scowls. Of course she didn’t. They are Blackwatch, she is Overwatch, opposite sides of a same coin; never meeting.

 

“Of course I do not know. No one briefs me about anything you do,” she retorts. Ana frowns at how tense the atmosphere gets.

 

“We’ve been trying to gather intel on the infamous _yakuza_ in Japan for a year now,” Jack replies, trying to not sound as exhausted as he looks. “They’re known as the Shimada Clan. But all we knew about them was that they have a main base in Hanamura.”

 

“And that they have magic on their side,” Gabriel interrupts sarcastically, though it came across more of fearful resentment than a simple joke. “Mystical dragons.”

 

“It was only until recently that we gained knowledge of their leader passing away. That was when Blackwatch decided to strike and demolish their ruling system entirely,” Jack says, face turning grim. “However, there came a complication.”

 

“What happened?” Angela asks slowly, heart beating hard against her ribcage, soaking up the suspense.

 

“We bumped into a man outside Hanamura Castle who was absolutely… deranged. He was on the veranda by the back of the castle; on top of the route we took. So for now, he’s suspected to be an intruder as well. His hair looked like it was cut in a spur of madness. And the look in his eyes was…” Gabriel pauses, swallowing. “frightening. Even for me. He looked hysterical. Anyway, although we were positively at least twenty metres away for him, he shot an arrow into McCree’s arm and disappeared. The arrow was some special shit, by the way. We broke off the shaft but the arrowhead is still lodged in his skin. It keeps breaking into fresh wounds.”

 

“So, get it out of McCree’s arm. That’s it? Why didn’t you let him in here, then,” Angela says, albeit irritably, turning around to exit the room.

 

“Because that’s not all,” Ana says, stopping Angela dead in her tracks.

 

Jack stands up, placing both hands on the table. “Here comes the main part. They infiltrate the castle and get to the main hall, and… Its just unbelievable.“ He turns and looks expectantly at Gabriel. “Commander Reyes?”

 

“There lay a man who is neither dead nor alive,” Gabriel finishes. Angela’s eyebrows furrow. He wasn’t making any sense. “The intruder must’ve killed him. Or to be more precise, badly injured him. Because he really should be dead, but he isn’t.”

 

Angela’s confused expression is met with weary looks from both Jack and Ana. Gabriel really isn't telling any lies.

 

“We were gonna end his suffering right there and then. But I saw something very interesting,” Gabriel says. “The sword that he had in his hand. It started to glow. Like hard light. A faint outline of a green dragon. That’s how I knew he's a direct descendent of the Shimadas. You know how effective it is to keep your friends close but your enemies closer? We brought him back for intel on his own clan.” He grins victoriously. “God damn jackpot.”

 

Angela’s eyes widen, her heartbeat ringing loudly in her ears. A green dragon; as if it broke free from the chains of her dream and escaped into reality. She feels a sudden sense of unsettling nausea. _Really, what a crazy coincidence_ , she thinks dizzily. If she can even call it that. Before any of them can add anything further, she says with a cautious determination: “take me to him”. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Special Ward 01 is right beside her office and unused for years until now. Apparently there hasn’t been as big as casualty in Overwatch as this, despite the patient not even being a part of the organisation. Upon arrival, Angela examines what can be described as remains of a body. The man is suspended in a human-sized transparent cylinder, filled to the brim with liquid, tubes already running through his veins to compensate for his loss of blood and bodily fluids. It seems the emergency medic team on the drop ship had done a satisfactory job. Missing limbs except for his left arm. A large gash running from his armpit diagonally to his waist, with hurriedly sewn up stitches from the medic team. He looks like he had been literally cut in half. And of all the bodies she has seen battered and bloody Angela has never felt quite as horrified as looking at this one. It wasn’t because she was revolted by the state of the body, but more of how it was a _coincidence_ that she had seen such a similar condition. Chunks of his green hair were absent and the remaining frayed, akin to his charred clothes. Most of his skin is blackened and peeling, looking like it had been seared right off.

 

She can’t believe it. _You are from my dream_ , she whispers, although her mind is still unable to unravel and comprehend _how_. But instead of a burning green dragon, lies a broken and incomplete man.

 

But she doesn’t have time to properly think about that. They want this man to be alive; the very least to a degree in which he could converse with them. And that is Angela’s job to do. If he is left unattended any longer, his weak heartbeat cannot support him. She places a device on the left side of his chest by lowering it from atop the cylinder, which works as an advanced temporary pacemaker. It isn’t sustainable for long-term, but it certainly was effective until she figured out how to get him conscious.

 

McCree walks in right as she’s finished. He clutches his injured arm and winces. Angela’s lip curls in sympathy. She motions for him to take a seat on the empty ward bed.

 

“I heard what happened. Unavoidable this time?” She waits for him to loosen out of his jacket. It isn’t a very big wound, but the small arrowhead is in deep. As she peers closer, she realises that it rotates very slowly, tearing the flesh surrounding it and making the wound deeper.

 

McCree makes a sound of discomfort when Angela injects anaesthesia around the site of injury. “Thought I was quick-witted. Didn’t even realise he was there ’til he shot an arrow in me. Hurts like a real bitch.”

 

She nods, understanding. With Angela’s expertise, it doesn’t take long for her to extract the arrowhead. Stitching up the wound, she says quietly, “You know, I’ve been to Hanamura.”

 

“Huh.” McCree’s eyebrows rise. “Nice place, ain’t it?”

 

“I don’t remember,” she waves a hand dismissively, knowing she lied through her teeth. Well, not completely. “Most of my memories were wiped out when I almost drowned in a river there. Dissociative amnesia.” _Some of them come back to me as dreams._

 

“W-wow,” he sputters. “I’m real sorry you had to go through that. How’d they save you?”

 

“Can’t recall,” Angela shrugs, bandaging McCree’s arm with a neat finish. “Be careful not to move this arm too much for the next few days. You could reopen the wound— Jesse. Listen to me. I am serious.”

 

“Yes, doc,” he says meekly.

 

“That means no training. No missions,” she warns. “If you come back with it reopened like the last time, I… I will shove that arrowhead back!”

 

McCree lets out a hearty laugh. “Threats don’t really suit you, darlin’!”

 

Angela scoffs, but not unkindly . He stands up and stretches, and then walks closer to the cylinder in which the Shimada was floating in. “Its a real miracle he’s alive,” he says, somber. “I know he’s our enemy but… _his_ enemy did a real number on ‘em.”

 

“Is violence always the solution?” Angela asks, albeit wryly as she gazes at Shimada, but both McCree and her knows the answer to her rhetoric question. Angela admits that her ideals are more of idealistic than realistic, but what can hurt from standing by what you believe in?

 

 _A lot more than you think_ , Angela tells herself dryly.

 

“Well,” McCree says with a grunt as he massages his injured arm. “I’ll leave him to you, Dr Ziegler. Commander Reyes wants him to be awake as soon as possible. Also, dinner here or office?”

 

Angela smiles at him gratefully. "Here." 

 

With a tip of his hat, he leaves. The room becomes immensely quiet, with only the sound of a clock ticking softly. Angela turns to Shimada and woefully smiles. “I guess it’s just you and me,” she says, partially glad that she had someone around her although he cannot respond. She doesn’t mind. All the better.


	3. Chapter 3

Angela turns on her comm which she had purposely switched off for the past few days. She isn’t usually this irresponsible, but then again, she’s had it tough recently. She figures this luxury is obligated. Connecting to Torbjörn, she winces at the loud background noises of machinery.

 

“Hello?!” He shouts over the comm.

 

“Hey,” she says, and when she doesn’t hear a response, she repeats herself louder.

 

“Doc! What do you want!” Torbjörn says loudly. “I’m a bit busy here!”

 

“I can tell,” she replies, amused. “Did Jack or Gabe brief you about the Shimada situation?”

 

“Yes! Must be a pain in the ass for you, my dear!”

 

“I could use the company,” she says, shaking her head with a chuckle when Torbjörn yells a ‘WHAT?’ back. “So you know what I need?”

 

The clanging and whirring noise of screwdrivers and machines slow to a stop. “Jack only told me to make vocal synthesisers. Guessing they just want him to talk?”

 

“That’s the main aim,” Angela replies. “But I also need a dialysis machine. I know that’s not in the area of your expertise, but I trust you to make one that accommodates the current situation… Oh, yes! And a synthetic spinal cord. He can’t talk without one. I’ll draw out the blueprints and send them to you.”

 

She disconnects after Torbjörn grunts out a ‘leave it to me, doc’. She turns back to Shimada, folding her arms in slight worry. She knows why Gabriel was so confident in bringing a man who is almost dead and making it her problem. Jack has been telling him about the new regenerative, ‘resurrection’ project she had been working on and struggling to perfect. _Of course_ its Jack. Angela sighs, biting her nails whilst deep in thought as she paces around the room. The project is not perfect yet. She had to make do with cybernetics and miracles at this point.

 

Examining the burnt and messy patches of green hair, she lets herself smile. “You have a really bad taste in hair dye, you know that right?” She says to Shimada. “Lucky for you, the serum that’s being pumped into you has mildly regenerative stem cell properties. The rest of your hair should be growing back soon. And also, the rest of your body’s damaged cells.”

 

She wonders why she is conversing with someone who is her enemy. Oddly, she finds it strangely therapeutic talking to someone who doesn’t talk back, regardless of whether he is part of a crime syndicate or not. She spends the rest of the day drawing out blueprints for Torbjörn. Around evening time, while she is almost finishing up on the outline of Shimada’s spine, there is a knock of the door. Angela, thinking it is McCree with her dinner, doesn’t bother to turn around. “Come in,” she says absentmindedly, scribbling something furiously on a paper. Footsteps echo around the silent room for a second before a plate of oil-based pasta is placed on her table next to her arm.

 

“Thanks,” she says happily. “Have you eaten, Jesse…?” She trails off as she looks up at her company, finding herself looking at the face of Gabriel Reyes instead of McCree. Great. There is an awkward pause before Gabriel coughs into his fist.

 

“How is he doing,” Gabriel asks, tone more of a statement than a question. Angela gazes at Shimada tiredly.

 

“Better than when he got here,” she replies. “I’ve stabilised his heartbeat. Tomorrow we will take him out of the cylinder and perform cybernetic surgery, inserting a spinal cord and tubes to replace main arteries and a right lung. Hopefully he will wake up after that.”

 

“Inform me immediately when he does so.” Gabriel says.

 

“Will do, Commander Reyes.”

 

Gabriel stares at her for a brief moment before giving a short nod and walking out. Angela feels a fleeting moment of desolation. For a second there, he looked melancholic. As if he missed working with her. At least, that was what Angela felt.

 

“Doc?” McCree’s voice crackles in her ear. “Saw your comm was finally turned on, so I wanted to confirm that you do want olive oil pasta instead of bolognese? I have to say, though, choosing oil-base over bolognese is really… unique.”

 

“Its alright, Jesse,” Angela scoffs out a short laugh, glancing placidly at the plate of pasta. “I’ve already got it.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

By the time she delivers the blueprints to Torbjörn’s workroom, dusk starts to settle and the HQ is bathed in an ombre of pink and purple. Although it is summer, the HQ sits on a mountainous area, surrounded by clusters of green trees and snowy mountain caps. Most people have already resigned to their allocated rooms. From the huge glass window of Special Ward 01, Angela sees Ana lecturing McCree on one of the outdoor training arenas. The latter has his arm outstretched, gun ready to pull the trigger. Angela watches with a small tug of pride in her heart as McCree lands all bullets in the bullseye. Even though she would hate to admit it, she is still very much attached to everyone in Blackwatch. Especially old friends. Turning away from the scenery, she checks Shimada’s electrocardiogram monitor. All vitals seems to be stable, with enough blood pumping to the heart and brain through the tubes.

 

“You’re a tough one,” she says lightly, sitting down. “Not many people can survive like this… like you.” She notices that black hair has already started to grow on his scalp. Good, he is responding well to the regenerative serum.

 

“I heard that the Shimada Clan were very skilled assassins,” she continues, furrowing her brow. “The one who did this to you… must be very strong.”

 

She shakes her head as if shaking off the thought. All she hopes is that the person wasn’t their foe either. “I don’t even know who you are. I mean, from analysing your body, you can’t be any older than me, so were you the son of the previous leader?” She ponders this for a while. “That is the most plausible case.”

 

She opens a touch-sensitive projector of the fMRI scans. Her eyes widen she reads the data collected from his brain activity.

 

“Incredible…” she whispers, looking at Shimada, clearly impressed. “No signs of brain damage. Oxygen flow to the brain is at almost normal standards.” She scans across Shimada’s face; eyes closed and muscles relaxed, suspended in a peaceful utopian bliss. “You can _hear_ me.”

 

She has never seen someone so coma-induced to have such a relatively active brain, Not impossible, and not as active as a normal brain, but extremely rare, considering he is missing half of his body.

 

“Now I’m more self-conscious of what I’m saying,” Angela mutters to herself. The sun had finally set. She turns on the lamp on the table and slumps on the chair. A trickle of pattering sounds bounce off the walls. Rain. It starts out slowly at first, and then a sudden roar of a downpour. Angela hopes McCree and Ana weren’t still outside.

 

“You must be cold,” she tells Shimada softly, subconsciously tugging her lab coat closer to her body. “I know I am, but it must be freezing inside there.”

 

She is graced with a silent response. Oh, well. It’s what she expects anyway.

 

She works on some more paperwork, losing track of the hours that pass by her, absorbed in her own little bubble. The whole room is dimly lit, aided only by the soft moonlight through the large window. Accompanied by the tapping of raindrops against glass, Angela feels her eyelids getting heavy. She already has a lot on her plate, and adding Shimada to the mix has made Angela overwhelmed. _This is fine,_ she thinks, placing her head on the table gently, already halfway to losing consciousness. _I’ll worry about everything tomorrow._

 

Before her eyes close completely, she is comforted by the soft blue hue emitting from the cylinder at the corner of her eye, not feeling too entirely alone.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

This isn’t her scene. Not really. This is loud, and she is quiet. This is a burst of bright colours, and she feels like the dullest one. This is having fun and she is awkward, if not out of place. This is Genji, and she is Angela.

 

Staring at the taiyaki in her hands, Angela takes a deep bite. It is sweet, with red bean spilling at the sides. Delicious. She watches Genji challenge a worthy opponent; Karin Kanzuki, a character in the arcade game. The graphics look ancient. She’s surprised such arcade games still exist.

 

“This game’s a classic,” Genji says suddenly, as if reading her mind. “Japan does its best to preserve Street Fighter.” His character, Sakura Kasugano, deals the final blow. The big red words ‘K.O’ flash loudly on the screen. He stands up, a satisfied smile on his face. Looking up at her, he nudges her to sit in front of the arcade game. “Come on, try it!”

 

“N-no, I-“ Angela starts but gets cut off when Genji pulls her to the chair and excitedly starts a new game. The music gets louder abruptly, startling her in her chair. The screen flashes ‘CHARACTER SELECTION’, leaving Angela dumbfounded by the spoil of choices.

 

“You can choose my favourite character,” Genji grins, pointing on the screen. “Gouki!”

 

Angela stares at the big, muscular man with iron-like fists and red flaming hair. Yes, this is very Genji. Strong and confident. Completely competent. She finds herself liking it, pressing on the red button to confirm her character choice. The screen reveals her AI opponent, M. Bison, an equally muscular and intimidating man. She gulps visibly, exchanges glances with Genji. “He looks scary,” Angela comments.

 

“And you’re way scarier,” Genji assures her, turning her attention back to the screen. The game was about to start. With adrenaline pumping through her veins, Angela feels oddly exhilarated by such a cheap thrill. When the screen flashes ‘START!’, she begins pounding buttons at random orders in deep concentration, eliciting loud chortles from Genji as the game progresses. Hearing his infectious laughter, she starts to chuckle as well.

 

“You’re doing great, Angela!” He gasps in between laughs. “You’re almost going to beat him!”

 

“You set it to easy mode, didn’t you?” Angela yells back against the loud noise. Genji’s eyes widen, surprised that she figured it out. But her smile makes him beam back at her. In the end, she did win, and they traded their truckload of tickets for more Japanese snacks. Settling for the pavement outside the arcade, they open the snacks one by one under the shade of cherry blossom trees. She likes this, she decides, making eye contact with the smaller boy. He gives a wide, boyish grin back, and she feels the tips of her ears getting red, not used to being in the centre of someone’s attention.

 

“Angela,” Genji says, biting into a cheese cracker.

 

“Yeah?” Angela replies, popping small taro muffins into her mouth.

 

“Angela,” Genji seems to say again, as if he did not hear her, but this time it sounds more far away. “Angela, Angela…”

 

“Angela!” McCree voice comes out clear amidst the blur. Angela’s head snaps up, bleary and half-awake. “Doc, you’re droolin’ on your papers!”

 

Angela blinks a few times, realising that she’s back in Special Ward 01. The sun streams in like bright currents of yellow, making her squint. Birds outside sing a chirpy song, signalling the start of a new day. McCree stands beside her, an eyebrow raised, looking both amused and concerned. She scowls back, not a morning person.

 

“You’re a mess. You oughta get ready, Shimada here’s waiting for you to give him his voice back,” he says, tossing her a toothbrush he got from her room. She catches it and raises it in thanks, making her way to the ensuite toilet.

 

“I had a good sleep, actually,” she replies, closing the toilet door. “Didn’t want it to end.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

After she freshens up, Angela takes another look at the fMRI scans of Shimada’s brain, with McCree observing the complicated data like a lost puppy.

 

“He’s been asleep, unconscious since last night,” Angela states, jotting it down in her computer. “When his brain ‘wakes up’, he’ll be able to hear us. In a subconscious state, at least. Pretty sure he could hear me yesterday.”

 

“Really?” McCree says in awe, fingers to his chin as he observes the fMRI scans. “That’s mighty fine. Will he be able to wake up for real, then?”

 

“After I do the surgery,” she replies, sighing loudly. “Hopefully. Although I am really not sure if he will talk. Betraying your family is a big thing.”

 

McCree keeps silent.

 

He stays for a while longer, before disappearing yet again under the orders of Gabriel. Torbjörn arrives shortly after, with a synthetic spine and vocal synthesisers. Under such a short notice, Angela is impressed with the delicate detail and work Torbjörn put in it.

 

“I’ve still got to tweak around with the dialysis machine,” he says, scratching his head. “Can Mr. Half-Body wait until then?”

 

“Rude!” Angela gently chides him. “But yes, thanks anyway, Torbjörn.”

 

Everything looked in place and ready for surgery. She calls in a small medic team, and cooperates with them to drain out the serum in the cylinder before pulling Shimada out and setting him on the surgery table. His hair has grown overnight into black bangs with streaks of leftover green, long enough to cover half his forehead. Angela looks at his face, still in a state of peaceful utopian bliss. Good.

 

Allowing herself to breathe for a couple of seconds, she exchanges glances with her team. They are ready. It is time to work.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

A few hours of sweat and minor heart attacks later, Angela slumps back in her seat. Relieved is not a strong enough word to describe how she feels at the exact moment. But when seeing Shimada with cybernetic vocal chords implanted in his throat, metal cybernetics covering his thorax and jaw, and a synthetic spine fitted perfectly along the trail of his back, Angela is more than content. It wasn’t easy. The duration of the surgery was punctuated with heart-stopping scares. Literally.

 

(“Dr Ziegler,” one of the medics says urgently. “His pulse is weakening.”

 

“Emergency CPR,” she orders quickly. The medic team scurries around in a hurried rush. She places both palms on the pacemaker and pressing hard between intervals. Shimada’s face was pale and sweaty, life slowly draining out the colour of his skin.

 

“Doc! Its ventricular fibrillation, we’re losing him!”

 

Angela tries to not panic. It is hard, but she manages. “Give epinephrine, and get ready the defibrillator.”

 

Placing both defibrillator paddles near Shimada’s chest, she shouts ‘clear!’ and the rest of the medic team moves back. She presses hard, the shock making the body jump up in motion. “Again, clear!” She repeats the action, until someone reports a stable ECG, and everyone lets out a breath of relief.)

 

She gazes at Shimada lying on a ward bed, still unconscious, but the colour of his skin back to normal. “You’re a tough one,” she says, chuckling tiredly. “A tough one, indeed.”

 

Sitting next to his ward bed, she allows herself to relax. Ana, who knows about the surgery, volunteered to cover for Angela and take care of her other patients, which still includes the increasingly impatient Reinhardt waiting to get discharged. She must remember to repay back Ana’s kindness, but Angela knows she can’t possibly cover Ana’s job. Unless she was an expert in sniping and scolding McCree for his posture. Both of which Angela can never reach Ana’s standard.

 

Her thoughts begin to flow, trailing back to the dream she had. Angela has to strain to remember it clearly. Another piece of Hanamura she once forgot. She’s begun to realise, albeit lately, that her time spent in Hanamura was filled with memories of a small local boy, Genji. Smiling to herself, somewhat forlorn, she wonders how he is doing now, or if he is even alive after the Omnic Crisis. When her thoughts suddenly shift to her parents, she thinks sombrely: _probably not_.

 

Rechecking Shimada’s vitals, she is relieved that they are still stable. Overall, she can at least say the surgery is a success. After all, he isn’t dead yet. _A tough green dragon_. She chews on her bottom lip in deep thought. How strange, she’s quite sure her dream was predicting the coming him, or to be accurate, what was left of him. It was almost eerie in a sense. Angela wonders if it was a good or bad omen.

 

The many hours she spends by his side, she waits. Constantly checking his vitals from time to time, Angela is anxious for some good news to come out of it. She supposes no news is also good news, for now, although his fMRI scans show that he is still in a state of sleep. Reinhardt comes in at some point to roar that he cannot be held back, no matter the consequences Jack will impose upon him. Angela sighs, waving a hand at him to frolic off somewhere. She will worry about the consequences later as well.

 

She stays by his side, she waits. Jack comes by, looking briefly at the unconscious man, before telling Angela she had done a good job. No mention of Reinhardt, which is a good thing. He doesn’t stay long; leaving right after. There isn’t anything they can do for now, either. For now, she waits some more. She waits until the sun sets and there are still no signs of him stirring. She waits until McCree comes by with dinner: a large chicken burrito. She asks him how his arm is. He chuckles, saying he’s got to thank his lucky stars he’s a little ambidextrous. And then he adds that Shimada’s got to thank his lucky stars that Angela’s given him another chance at life. She wants to say she doesn’t know if he’d be thankful considering he’s in enemy territory, but she opts for a silent response.

 

“Or he could thank a lucky moon,” he says, gazing at the full moon from the big window. “That thing sure is brighter than any star tonight.” And it is, a gleaming source in a sea of black. Unnaturally round and bright. Angela quickly looks away, suddenly not feeling entirely too well. Staring at the moon does not end up with good experiences for her.

 

She knows McCree is staying here to keep her company, but she tells him he can go. It is part of her normal day, she assures him. (I stay up late all the time.) He looks skeptical, not wanting to leave her alone, but she insists he retires for the night. (You’ve got an arm to heal.) So he leaves and she is alone. She talks a bit to Shimada, willing him to wake up, but to no avail.

 

“I am not your enemy,” she says, and surprised to find that deep within herself, it is true. Although they are technically from two different ends, Angela realizes she wants to protect him, regardless of what Gabe or Jack will do to him. She worked so hard to prevent his death, why would she support it?

 

Replied with nothing, she nods herself to sleep while sitting next to the ward bed, dozing off to the quiet whirring of Shimada’s mechanical body parts.

 

In the dead of the night, unbeknownst to her, there is an abrupt change in the fMRI recordings. A finger twitches. A sharp gasp for breath.

 

A pair of eyes flutter open for the first time in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of sleepy Angela! 
> 
> thank you for all the support so far, really appreciate it


	4. Chapter 4

She wills for something, but there is nothing. Just an abyss of complete emptiness, and her. The blackness of which she steps on ripples around her feet. She is the only white beacon. She wills for something, anything about Hanamura, about Genji. It has unknowingly grown to become a source of solace and comfort. She wills for something even about her parents, just to see them again, but everything is just pitch black.

 

 _Let me out_ , she wants to say. _I want to wake up._ But she doesn’t. She can’t. Dreams are funny things: you are aware of what is happening and yet you cannot control anything. And when you can control your actions in a dream, you are unable to wake up by yourself. The struggle for control between the mind and reality is truly a paradox Angela cannot fathom to understand. It is neither this nor that, not science or magic. Angela doesn’t like middle ground, where things do not belong anywhere. Ever since her parents died, and ever since Overwatch split into two, she’s felt like that way too often.

 

Yet here, she fights herself in the boundaries of her own conscience, feeling helpless. Crouching down, she lets her fingertips glide across the inky water she is stepping on. It is cold, almost as if she running her fingers through a cloud. As cold as the river water she fell in all those years ago. Anxiety shrinks her heart into a tiny, rapidly beating ball of panic, wondering if she will fall in again, but she forces herself to stay calm amidst her trauma. Frowning, she dips her whole hand in, and suddenly, the water becomes warm, enveloping her like a human touch. It is a foreign feeling; she has never felt warm concerning water in her dreams. It is strange. It almost feels as if another person has a hand over hers.

 

Her eyes open abruptly, lifting her head up in the process. She realizes that she has been resting her head on the edge of the ward bed; unprofessionally so. Finding herself looking at surprised brown eyes, Shimada’s hand has already retracted from hers and held close to his chest in a defensive position.

 

“You...are awake,” she says slowly, taking in the situation as calmly as she could. 

 

He doesn’t say anything. He stares at her like he didn’t expect her to talk, then at the left hand he used to awake her, which is covered in skin. Turning to his other side, there is nothing there instead. His head whips back to face her, looking panicked and confused.

 

“You lost your right arm,” she says softly, empathetically. “I stopped the bleeding, but that is all I can do for now.”

 

He still doesn’t say anything, althoughhe looks wretched. Dreaded guilt plunges Angela’s gut. She wonders if saving him was the right thing. Looking at his distressed face, she tries not to think about it. Unfortunately, she cannot.

 

“You are in Overwatch,” she adds in the same careful tone. “They found you dying in your home and took you back. I had orders to keep you alive.”

 

At that, Shimada’s face fell, downcast. He chooses to stare soullessly at the only hand he has left, as silent as he was when unconscious.

 

The guilt does not dissipate, only to grow stronger. She wants to say she’s sorry, but she knows that a thousand times they bring him to her, there won’t be a time she wouldn’t save him. She has to. It wasn’t her choice to make. It was for Overwatch's.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Well?” Gabriel says impatiently, scowling at the silent man. “You have a voice now, you know.”

 

It is approximately four in the morning. Gabriel came immediately once Angela told him of Shimada’s awakening via comm. He is an intimidating man when he wants to be, but Shimada looks unfazed, still not saying a word.

 

“No records of any Shimadas’ birth, name or age,” Gabriel says, tapping a finger against his folded arm. “You guys are real enigmas, aren’t you?”

 

Shimada keeps silent, dejected and already looking defeated. Gabriel looks like he wants to tear Shimada’s remaining arm right off. Angela glances at the situation worriedly. Shimada has been ignoring her entirely ever since she told him she had to keep him alive. His indifferent reactions and lack of response are really throwing both her and Gabriel out of the loop.

 

“Do you know what Overwatch is?” Gabriel suddenly asks, lessening his scowl. Shimada takes a pause, before nodding once slowly. 

 

“Fair. Do you know who the members of Overwatch are?” Gabriel continues, leaning against a wall. Shimada blinks slowly, in hesitation, before turning to Angela.

 

“Mercy,” he says quietly, staring at her with an expression she quite can’t put a finger on. His voice is hoarse and robotic-like, curtesy of the vocal synthesizers.

 

“Her real name, I mean,” Gabriel says impatiently. “Everyone knows the name Mercy; its in the newspapers, smart guy. Do you know her real name?”

 

Shimada breaks eye contact from her, shaking his head once. Angela expects it, anyway. After her famous doctor parents died in the Omnic Crisis, she had gone totally under the radar to escape from the press and the attention that constantly reminded her of her grief. When she joined Overwatch, they gave her the alias.

 

“Good,” Gabriel replies his silent answer. “Since we aren’t on the first name basis, I’m Reyes, you’re Shimada, and she’s Mercy. Until you give us your real name, we aren’t revealing any more that you know. I think that is fair, isn’t it?”

 

Of course Gabriel would be petty like that. But she supposes it is for good reason, too. Due to security reasons, Overwatch has only revealed the names of Jack, Gabriel and Reinhardt to the media. Even Ana’s name is off the grid.

 

Shimada does not grant them with a reply nor a nod this time. Gabriel ignores it. His finger continues tapping on his folded arm, deep in thought. Angela is sure she can cut the tension with a knife.

 

“Do I contact Commander Morrison?” Angela asks Gabriel. Jack will know what to do. She’s seen him coax answers gently from people all the time. It is in his nature, she supposes.

 

“No,” Gabriel says immediately, glaring at her. “No one is to contact him. The Shimada is Blackwatch’s problem.”

 

Angela knows Gabriel just doesn’t want to make Jake take full responsibility as he always does, wanting to help people more than he should. However, she simply nods in reply. There isn’t a surefire way to make Shimada talk. Torture is out of the question; Angela simply will not allow it. It is unfeasible as well, considering that pulling the smallest tube out of Shimada right now can trigger significant blood loss. The only thing left is compromise, and by exchanging glances with Reyes, she knows that he knows too.

 

“Okay, Shimada, I’ll strike a deal with you,” Gabriel says, walking over to stand near the edge of the bed. “We will grant you anything within our power and circumstances. Money, safety, clearing your name, anything. In exchange, you give intel about your clan. Sounds good?”

 

Shimada doesn’t look up, seemingly unperturbed by the more than generous offer on Gabriel’s part. Angela bites her bottom lip. It is impossible to read him. It is a case gone before they even started.

 

Shimada looks up, staring at Gabriel squarely, and Angela swears she sees a flash of red dash across his eyes. “My clan has forsaken me,” he says, his voice tearing at the edges but nevertheless firm. “Betraying my clan is not a problem for me.”

 

Gabriel looks surprised at this, and so is Angela, who at the very least is disturbed that his own _family_ were the ones who did this to him. This is a prospect they had not considered. Angela turns to look at Gabriel in her state of shock, and when seeing his face practically gleaming, she knows this is better than what he ever expected. She does not have a good feeling of where this is heading. Not a single bit.

 

“Alright, Shimada, tell me your request,” Gabriel smiles, looking oddly calm though hearing such unexpected news. Shimada looks weary, staring at his arm again; the only limb he has left. He hesitates, unsure if he can trust the both of them and what is to come. Angela completely shares his sentiment. She can only imagine what scheme Gabriel is thinking of this time to turn the entire tides to his favour.

 

But he finally talks. Carefully and softly, that Angela has to strain to hear him.

 

“I... I want to be able to walk again.”

 

It is a strange request; strange in the irony that it was a perfectly ordinary, predictable request for someone in a situation like his. Or maybe Angela just didn’t know what to expect. He has just been a puzzle full of surprises, and she hadn’t thought he would be so... normal.

 

“Well,” Gabriel breaks into a full grin, wide and subtly ominous that Angela thinks: _oh, no_. “I think we can arrange that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first thing he wants from her is a shaver.

 

At the start, he tries to do it himself. On the ward bed, his only arm with the shaving cream, and Angela holding a small mirror in front of him. She watches with pity as he struggles to finish the first step; opening the shaving cream tube.

 

“Let me do it for you,” she says, gently taking the shaving cream from his hand. He hasn’t looked at her in the face after Gabriel left, not even once. She thinks he hates her, and that he isn’t wrong for feeling so. She would too, if in his shoes.

 

So Angela tries to help him; she feels obligated to. And keeping to her word, she applies the shaving cream as neatly as she possibly can, although with Shimada’s eyes never meeting her’s. She can’t say she isn’t disappointed. She just wants a sign that he hates her a little less now. But if he even does, it does not show. Taking the shaver, she pauses for a moment, before looking at him.

 

“Do you want to do it yourself?” Angela asks, and it works: she sees her blue eyes in his dark brown ones; mildly surprised she bothered to ask. He nods hesitantly, taking the shaver gingerly from her hand. Angela gives a reassuring smile and holds up the mirror for him.

 

Although she guesses he’s right-handed, he does it perfectly in the end with his left, slowly, but without mistakes. Angela gazes proudly at the new skin that grew on his cheeks and chin. The regenerative serum was a success. She wants to tell him that he did a good job, that he looks handsome even, but he is so withdrawn in his melancholia that she doesn’t dare to. She packs up everything and is about to quietly leave when he mutters a Japanese word so soft that she almost misses it. 

 

 _Thank you_ , he says. She pretends to ignore it as if she didn’t understand, but walks out of the room feeling uncontrollably pleased.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After Shimada’s awakening, Gabriel sent the order for all Overwatch agents to now address each other by their last names or aliases. It was troubling at first, but with a foreign, possibly dangerous threat to their security in their premises, they had to get used to it.

 

Whatever connection Angela thought they had since the shaving incident was sorely misinterpreted on her part. As the days pass, Shimada turns out to be a living corpse; always in a daze, staring out of the big window blankly from sunrise to the start of dusk. She tries conversing with him, but to no avail. He won’t say a word, and Gabriel hadn’t turned up since the first time they’ve met. Angela feels like she’s only tugging loose ends at this point. He refuses to eat his food, and when constant persuasion fails to work, Angela has to have him attached to a drip to prevent him from starving himself to death. How is she supposed to help a man who does not want help at all?

 

(“Don’t give him the legs first, take care of him for now,” Gabriel instructed her after they had their little meeting with Shimada. “I’ll inform you of our next step after Morrison gives me the green light.”

 

“And green light for what, exactly?” Angela prodded, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why can’t I give him legs? Are you going back on your word?”

 

“Because I have to make sure he is keeping to his own end of the deal by telling the truth. If he isn’t and you give him that power, there’s no telling when he might use it against us,” Gabriel retorted calmly. “He is still a skilled assassin, doc. Regardless of whether he is missing an arm or not.”

 

She really hates it when he’s right.

 

“You don’t trust him,” she frowned, folding her arms. “He already gave you valuable intel that his clan betrayed him and you don’t trust him.”

 

“And neither should you,” Gabriel replied indifferently. “Don’t let empathy always cloud your rationality.”

 

She really, _really_ hates it when he’s right.)

 

It is early summer and the HQ is freezing cold as usual. McCree must still be sleeping (his comm is off), and so Angela has to make coffee herself. Wrapping her coat closer to her body, she sighs as she turns on the coffee machine with sleep in her eyes, too preoccupied to hear Ana walking in.

 

“How’s the little ninja doing?” she says, jolting Angela awake in surprise.

 

“An- I mean, Amari!” Angela startles. “I didn’t see you.”

 

Ana laughs. “Its because you look so lost. Bad dreams again?”

 

“No,” Angela gives a tired smile. “Not lately at least. It’s neither good or bad.”

 

“Then Shimada is keeping you up?”

 

 _Keeping me up with worry._ “Not necessarily.” Ana chooses a cup and holds it in front of Angela. She takes it and fills it up with coffee as well. “He just doesn’t talk, doesn’t eat... you know how I worry about patients like that.”

 

Ana looks at her sympathetically. “The mind can sometimes be the hardest to treat. It often requires more care than you think.”

 

“Believe me, I’ve been trying,” Angela sighs. “But I can’t seem to break through the walls he builds around himself.”

 

Ana holds up the sugar jar. Angela shakes her head in response, and Ana shrugs before dropping two sugar cubes into her coffee. Then she taps the left side of her chest, where her heart lies. “Give him time, Mercy. You are better than you know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When she arrives back to Special Ward 01, Shimada is still sleeping. The seemingly permanent despondency is replaced by a peaceful expression. _So in sleep his demons do not hurt him_ , Angela notices, as she opens the windows a little bit for small rays of sunlight to stream through. _How different from mine._

 

It is relatively less busy today. No emergencies, no special cases to attend to. Angela gives herself this time to relax. She sits on a chair next to the ward bed, and patiently waits for Shimada to wake up so she can offer him colourful cereal. Just like she’s been doing everyday. And everyday he rejects it.

 

Despite the lack of trust the other Overwatch agents have in Shimada, Angela finds herself believing every word he said to Gabriel. Jack was less than keen. Ana was cautious, but still doubtful. Reinhardt and Torbjörn were wildly suspicious. McCree was probably the most inviting, although he kept his distance. And Angela understood that. He trusted Gabriel more than anyone else.

 

And so she wonders why she trusts the person she should trust the least. Maybe empathy really does cloud her rationality more often than she realises. She has always liked to side with the underdog. Feeling dull with boredom, Angela starts to count backwards. She reaches three thousand after counting a whole round when Shimada’s eyes blink awake, looking confused in that moment of coming into consciousness.

 

“Good morning,” she says, as gentle as she always is with him. His eyes turn to look at her. She holds up the cereal bowl in question. His eyes turn back to the ceiling. She takes that as a no. Placing the bowl down, she checks his vitals. Everything was alright, no other treatments needed. She removes some needles attached to bigger machines. They were no longer required to sustain Shimada’s body; it was almost self-functioning. The only external thing now fuelling Shimada’s body is the drip, but that is because he refuses to eat. The rest were tubes that protruded on his skin, transporting blood around his body.

 

“You know, usually my patients will request for something so they can feel better,” she adds, despite the lack of response from her company. “Like a certain type of food, a book, television… Just to keep themselves occupied. Is there anything you want?”

 

She supposes she doesn’t expect an answer because he is usually silent the whole duration she is around, so she flinches in surprise when he says, ”I want to go outside.”

 

She knows it isn’t allowed. If anything, it is a trap, a ploy for the Shimada Clan to recapture their heir. She would be so incredibly naive to agree to it. _Don’t let empathy cloud your rationality._ Gabriel’s words ring and fade in her ears. It is rare for her to disobey orders and rules. But just this one time. Just this one time she will make the exception.

 

“Okay,” she replies. “We’ll have to go at night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Angela gave the excuse that she has to monitor Shimada until late to stay in Special Ward 01. Shimada does not talk after voicing out his request. Oftentimes during the afternoon, she catches him watching McCree practice with Ana on the outdoor arenas, and other times he looks at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist, as if he wants to make sure it’s still real. And for the entirety of the time she is in Special Ward 01, Angela makes sure that Shimada is well enough to be transported out of his bed.

 

At night, the Overwatch HQ is as quiet as the dead. She helps Shimada onto a wheelchair and the both of them make their way past the retina and fingerprint locks every time they come across a door. Angela can hear her heart pounding so loud she’s sure Shimada can hear it in the quiet hallway she pushes him through. But what can she say, she isn’t the type to be a rebel. She’s very sure either Jack or Gabriel were still awake. Or both. Angela forces herself not to overthink. Shimada, on the other hand, stays completely calm and still that Angela has to check a few times to make sure he’s not passed out in his seat. He ignores her constant glances.

 

She knows a backdoor that is barely used by anyone because its straight into the forested area behind the HQ. Unlocking it by scanning her retinas and fingerprint, the door slides open with a quiet ‘whoosh’. Angela shivers at the cold air. It is summer but Switzerland summers aren’t exactly hot either, especially at night. She looks at Shimada. The man does not flinch at the cold. Having most of his body in mechanical parts has made him immune to it. Angela pushes him out of the door and stops before the forest, their source of light being the moon; now a full crescent amidst a sea of tiny stars twinkling back at them.

 

“I’m sorry,” Angela says. “This isn’t much. One of these days when its allowed I’ll bring you in the morn-“

 

She stops herself after glancing at Shimada, who is looking up at the night sky, not listening to anything she said. He is in quiet awe, transfixed at the sky painted before him. In her heart she feels pity. From where he lies in his ward, he is unable to look at the full stretch of the sky. No wonder he wanted to go outside and see it for himself. Angela decides to let him be, gazing at him quietly, when a small single tear falls from his eye lid, running down his cheek. The sight pulls at her heartstrings, and she quickly looks away, thinking that this vulnerability is something she is not meant to see.

 

“Why aren’t they giving me legs,” he suddenly says with a tone unlike asking a question. She doesn’t turn to face him, still cautious of not invading his privacy, and instead focuses her vision to the twinkling night sky. He talks softly, only above a whisper, but she is grateful for it nonetheless.

 

“I am unsure as well,” Angela admits. “But I hope they will allow me to soon.”

 

Shimada’s face does not change at her words, almost as if he expected to hear them.

 

“What if they never do,” he says, hollowly, but cracking with emotion, and at the corner of her eye he is still looking above. His voice sounds synthetic, robotic, and yet Angela thinks she hasn’t heard anything more human. “Can you just kill me, then?”

 

Her whole being aches for a stranger. A stranger she’s known for two weeks. A stranger who just poured out his whole feelings to her in that single question. She can’t explain it, and she does not understand it as well, but it is an inexplicable sentiment. _Don’t let empathy cloud your rationality._ She ignores her thoughts. 

 

“I will not give you the death you wish for,” she finally says after moments of silent hesitation. “You still have a purpose in this life.”

 

She turns to face him, and he is no longer crying, but looking back at her with wide eyes, clinging onto her every word as if she said everything he needed to hear. It is a strange feeling when his eyes meet hers. If Angela were to describe it as simply as possible, it is as if he looks right through her like she is not there at all, and at the same time he is taking her presence in all at once.

 

“You are better than you know,” she continues. She does not breaking eye contact, and for the first time, neither does he. “So, don’t die on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peep that dragons reference


	5. Chapter 5

Angela soon finds out that Gabriel is sending McCree undercover back to Hanamura, to investigate if Shimada is telling the truth. Bidding him farewell with a hug, she hesitates for more than a moment before asking him to bring back cherry blossom branches.

 

(McCree looks at her, clearly puzzled by her weird request. “What if they wilt?” he says.

 

“Then get them right before you leave,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you.”

 

“I’m your huckleberry,” McCree teases, eliciting an amused scoff out of her.)

 

Four days passed since then. Shimada is characteristically quiet, not talking unnecessarily, but at least now he answers when Angela has questions. She had crumbled a wall between him and her, and she is grateful that. When Angela offers him a bowl of cereal a few mornings after, he takes it, and she is at the very least relieved. Shimada chews cautiously; as if he hasn’t tasted such artificial flavours before, as she looks at him, clearly amused. He is barely finished with it when he gingerly asks for rice instead. She is happy to comply; as long as he is filling up his stomach.

 

Looking at the bigger picture, her progress with Shimada boosted her confidence in everything else as well, and so she decides to send an appeal to Jack for permission to make and attach Shimada’s right arm. She doesn’t bother asking Gabriel because she knows he will send back an immediate ‘no’. Angela likes to think Jack is a big softie behind that tough, masculine front he shows to everyone. And she likes to use that to her advantage.

 

However, Angela is unsure if Jack will reply. Although she is somewhat detached from the actual Overwatch operations as of late, due to the influx of patients and Shimada, she is aware of the current big issue that is gaining increased attention: Talon. Talon is a trickier situation for Overwatch to deal with; mainly because diplomatic means aren’t exactly effective against a terrorist organisation like them. It is more suited for the likes of Blackwatch, but there hasn’t been as big a threat as Talon before, and they have to tread carefully with their moves.

 

She can tell Jack and Gabriel are stressed out.

 

But apparently Jack does read her appeal, because Gabriel comes storming in when she is fixing Shimada’s breastplate, a weary Jack in tow. Gabriel looks furious; fists clenched and a mean scowl.

 

“Reyes,” Jack says exasperatedly as he tries to keep up. “Reyes, listen to m-“

 

“Look here,” Gabriel starts icily, glaring at Angela. “You are _not_ to make anything unless I say so. Did he ask you to make it?” He glowers at Shimada, who looks confused at the current situation unfolding.

 

“No.” Angela is slightly intimidated, but stands firm. “He didn’t. I wanted to. And also, my appeal is to Strike Commander Morrison.”

 

Gabriel snarls. “The Shimada belongs to Blackwatch.”

 

“But Shimada is my responsibility, and I only answer to Commander Morrison,” Angela replies, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She glances at Shimada, who looks back, trying to find a silent answer from her.

 

“I will say this again, but only once,” Gabriel says coldly, stepping towards her. She wants to cower; her resolve isn’t that strong. “Shimada belongs to Blackwatch. And if _you_ don’t want to follow orders, Ang-“

 

“Commander Reyes.” Jack warns curtly. Gabriel stops, clearly irked at Jack’s hardened tone. Angela is familiar with this tone as well. It meant that Jack has tolerated enough.

 

“I approve her appeal.” He continues, unfazed by Gabriel’s angry, shocked response. “Mercy, you may attach Shimada’s right arm. Legs, as well.”

 

“ _Morrison_ ,” Gabriel hisses. “Do you realise what you’re doing?”

 

“Yes,” Jack replies. “I have been trying to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. McCree has sent back intel via comm. Shimada is telling the truth. You didn’t answer yours, so he contacted me.”

 

Gabriel groans, muttering, “that stupid cowboy.”

 

Angela grins happily, turning to Shimada. He has no sudden change in expression, but she can tell he is relieved. He exchanges a look of gratitude with her, and Angela feels her face turning pink at the thought of their shared moment outside the forest. Quickly glancing back at Gabriel, the man is no longer scowling, but looking almost triumphant. Her nerves immediately unsettle.

 

“So you give me the green light, too?” He asks Jack, whose eyes dart to Angela uneasily, before nodding once.

 

“What are you planning?” Angela asks cautiously.

 

Gabriel smiles smugly. “Since you only answer to Morrison, I’ll leave it to him to tell you.” And with that, he saunters off. An apprehensive feeling layers over Angela’s skin. She looks at Jack for reassurance, but he does not meet her eyes. Slowly, he walks towards the ward bed.

 

“Commander...” she starts.

 

“Shimada,” Jack ignores her, turning to the man who has been quiet the whole time. “Would you like to avenge your own death?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Angela has never felt this _angry_. She feels like she’s almost reaching the level of irate. Something like this coming from Gabriel would definitely make her vexed, but for Jack to allow something like this. They crossed the line this time.

 

She’s taking it out on him, she knows, but she can’t stop. Her voice is loud, it is seething and indignant, and she’s sure Shimada can hear her from inside. But she can’t care less at this point.

 

“You are _not_ making him into your weapon. Into Gabriel’s weapon,” she says, glaring. “You know what I think about Blackwatch, Commander.”

 

Jack sighs, looking mildly exasperated. “He would be a huge help in defeating the Shimada Clan. He knows their ins and outs.”

 

“There’s a better way than this,” she breathes out coldly. “He can’t kill his own family, Morrison. We can still give him limbs without… without those enhancements. We can still make him more _human_.” She’s pleading now, and she knows it. Angela has seen how fragile Shimada’s state of mind is as of late, and she is aware that objectifying him as a weapon may very well break that paper-thin balance. It is already starting to crack — she has noticed — with half of his body existing as mechanical parts.

 

Jack says nothing. Angela knows she struck a chord. She knows he feels guilty. But she also knows his biggest weakness isn’t empathy like her’s: it is Gabriel.

 

“You’re defending him again,” she states quietly, her tone weakening, already defeated. “Just like how you’ve defended Blackwatch and their shady operations. Just… Just like how you defend all of Reyes’ actions.”

 

Jack remains silent, before asking, “do you hate him, Mercy?”

 

Angela stops short, stunned at Jack’s question, before shaking her head, eyebrows furrowed. “I hate what he does,” she says. “But I love him, Commander. Even now, when we’re fighting like… like little brats. He’s been such a big part of my life.” She walks closer to him, and pokes his chest, looking steadily into his eyes. “And _you_ love him too. Its just that between us, I stand by what I believe in.”

 

Jack holds her gaze, unflinching. “I do stand by what I believe in, Mercy.” He replies softly, and there is that same vulnerability in his eyes; raw and truthful. “I believe in him.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

But Angela knows that no matter how much she begs or screams at Jack, the choice is ultimately Shimada’s. Still, she refuses to believe that he should get the enhancements. Her heart sinks below her chest when Shimada tells them that he’ll do it. His face hangs low, facing neither of them, his clenched fist trembling. Angela looks at him worriedly. If anything, he doesn’t look happy with the current change in plans. A flash of emotion flickers across his face; with what Angela can only make out as disconcertion and cold rage.

 

So she decides to give it once last try. “Are you really sure?” She asks, barely above a whisper. _I want to protect you._

 

_But who am I to tell you that?_

 

“Surely there is another way,” she adds a little louder, glancing at a passive but otherwise guilty Jack and then back to the stoney-faced Shimada. Both men were silent. The seconds crawl by like they are in agony.

 

“Who are you to know?” Shimada suddenly snaps, and Angela wants to recoil in fearful shock. She hasn’t heard him use that tone before; not once, not ever. And to think that it’d be to her. The tightness in her chest squeezes itself inwards, trying to hold her together through very loose seams. Angela wants to crumble into the ground and hide. This is the silent, almost gentle man whom she had tried countless times to connect with. She had hit a nerve in this man, something he refuses to tell her. How easy it is; for one mistake to tumble her delicate web of efforts. How easy it is; for a few words to make a heart crack and shatter.

 

 _Who are you to know?_ The voice in her mind eagerly agrees with him. _Who am I to you?_

 

She can’t reply. She’s got nothing. All she wanted to do was help. But she is the ocean waves crashing against coastal rocks that will not budge.

 

“Dead is dead, like Shimada is violence.” He says impassively. “In the Shimada Clan,” he adds, staring straight at her, “violence is always the solution.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Shimada doesn’t talk to her after that. She tries, but he already burnt that bridge between them. Angela is back at square one. She leaves his dinner on the table beside his bed. Noodle soup. When she comes back in the morning, it is left untouched.

 

“You’ll be hungry,” she tells him.

 

“Good,” he replies, blankly, staring out the window. The sun rises lazily. “I want to feel something.”

 

Angela hesitates, her thumbs playing with the frays of her coat. At least he is replying. A bleak one, but at least it is still something. _Back to square one_.

 

“Did I say something wrong?” she blurts, hands fidgeting with themselves. “I was just trying to hel-“

 

“You’ve helped me enough, doctor,” Shimada replies tiredly. _No, not yet,_ she shouts at him internally, frustrated. _Not when you’re like this. I’ve barely helped you if you’re like this._ It feels like he just wants her to go away. It isn’t a good feeling. Most people practically beg for her help. She is the most skilled doctor in Overwatch. This is foreign, this is unfamiliar, and this is cold.

 

“You don’t have to do it,” she whispers.

 

He looks at her like she said a complete lie. Eyes glazed and vacant, he says, “it isn’t like they gave me any choice.”

 

And she wants him to be wrong, but things never really goes her way.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

McCree comes back the day after. Angela is elated to see him. A fresh face from the melancholic ones she has been around lately. She waits at the drop ship point for him, and as he emerges after it lands, she gives a meek wave. He gives an amused smirk from the entrance of the drop ship and mouths something at her, although she cannot hear him.

 

“I said, fancy seein’ you here!” He chuckles as she greets him with a signature hug. “You’re usually cooped up in the office, or now…” he gives that same sly smirk that she wants to slap off his face. “Mighty busy in the Special Ward.”

 

She frowns, the image of Shimada’s cold, dismissive face replaying in her head. “Quit that.”

 

“Then why’d you ask me to get these?” He snorts, whipping out cherry blossom branches messily tied together. She stares at them, impassive. _Typical_. “You came here just for these, didn’t ya?”

 

“I’m just trying to do something nice.” She replies, taking it from him and arranging them in a neater order.

 

“And when have you done anythin’ nice for me?!” He sputters, although wearing a shit-eating grin.

 

“I saved your arm.”

 

“Hm, touché.”

 

“But I’ll get you tumbleweeds or something, next time,” she says, already walking away, ignoring McCree’s annoying expression on his face. “Thanks for the flowers.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her father, legs folded inwards, sits in a Japanese traditional manner. He drinks o-cha in a small clay green cup, with sakura flowers painted on the outside, against the backdrop of a bamboo garden. A pond rests on the far left, koi swimming and water glistening under the Japanese sun.

 

Opposite him, is a local businessman, donned in a smartly-pressed suit and tie. He sits in the same manner as her father, an arm holding out a clay kettle, offering more o-cha politely. Her father accepts. Angela watches with interest. Her mother had told her that the man was a ‘representative’. She wonders what that means. She peers at them from behind the wooden partition, unnoticed.

 

Her father breaks the silence first.

 

“What is the situation so far?” He asks.

 

“Our private doctors diagnosed it as bone marrow cancer,” the Japanese replies, sounding mildly distressed. “They said there is no way to save him anymore, but we heard that you are in town, and that you can help him.”

 

“If it is as serious as you say,” Angela’s father frowns. “I am afraid I cannot be of much help. I am also stationed in Hanamura Hospital. I may not be able to give him my full attention.”

 

“We just need him to live,” the man pleads urgently. “We heard you are the best, Doctor Ziegler. Surely you have a solution. Money is not an issue for us.”

 

“I am not concerned about money,” her father replies, not unkindly. He pauses for a while, staring at the desperate representative, deep in thought. “There might be a way... But it has a low success rate. The odds will not be with him.”

 

The man falters at her father’s words. He mulls over them for a while, before saying, “It is worth a try.”

 

Angela’s father nods understandingly, setting down the clay cup. He clasps his hands. “Then it is settled. I will make my way tomorrow to see him. And surely I should know the name of my patient?”

 

“No.” The representative says immediately, recoiling his hands and placing them on his lap. “That is confidential.”

 

Her father cocks his head to a side, but still gives an unbothered smile. “Then I am sorry, but I only treat patients who provide their names.”

 

The man looks troubled. Angela didn’t understand his dilemma. It was just a name. What was so secretive about a name? And why was her father having patients outside the hospital?

 

“Alright, then,” the man relents, eyes darting nervously. His tongue darts out quickly to wet his lips. “But you have to swear to confidentiality, Doctor Ziegler.”

 

Her father chuckles, but his eyes hold the man’s gaze. “I assure you, I take a patient’s confidentiality very seriously.”

 

The man lets out an uneasy breath and does not say anything for a while. Angela can hear the second hand of the clock ticking amidst the silence. She cranes her neck forward, eager to listen. The man coughs into his shaky fist.

 

“He is Shimada-dono; the head of my clan. Shimada Sojiro.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

With a sharp gasp of air, she wakes up. Her head stings, and she winces, trying to come to terms with her surroundings.

 

Angela looks in front of herself blearily, realising she is clasping the bouquet of cherry blossom branches. In front of her lies her table with a little lamp. She is in her office. It comes back to her slowly. After she left McCree, there was an emergency operation that needed to be done. One of the Blackwatch operatives who was sent to gather intel on Talon barely made it back alive. Gabriel looked troubled at the state of his agent. And so did everyone else. Talon did seem like a threat bigger than they imagined. As much as she disliked ‘dirtying’ — as she would call it — her hands in Blackwatch operations, they didn’t really have any other professional doctor with the same expertise as her. After the whole fiasco was over, she had to complete paperwork over it, and fell asleep in exhaustion.

 

_Shimada Sojiro._

 

The name comes back to her, ringing in her ears. Her head spins just thinking about it. Her father had helped a Shimada. A Shimada leader, to be exact. It wasn’t much information, but they have a name now. A bitter taste settles at the back of her throat at the realisation that her father was actually willing to help a crime syndicate. Why would he?

 

 _You did it too._ She tells herself.

 

She had to inform someone. Jack immediately comes to mind, but she hesitates. Remembering Jack’s silent request for her to patch things up with Gabriel, she sighs loudly as she turns on her comm.

 

“Commander Reyes,” she says into the mic when he picks up. “I have something about the Shimada Clan.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gabriel looks at her like he doesn’t believe her. “And… you’re only telling me this now, why?”

 

“I just remembered about it,” Angela says exasperatedly. “Its hard to explain.” She isn’t keen on starting another topic on her Hanamura times of drowning and vivid dreams.

 

Gabriel still doesn’t look convinced. “Why’d you not tell your precious Shimada then?”

 

“Because,” Angela huffs, sitting on Gabriel’s table which is littered with documents. He glares at her, but she ignores it. She picks up a photo frame hiding shyly at the corner of the table. It is a picture of him and Jack, back when they were in the Soldier Enhancement Program. With Jack grinning and Gabriel grimacing, they looked awkwardly young and disgustingly adorable. Gabriel quickly snatches the frame away.

 

“Because _what_ ,” he snaps.

 

“Because I’m trying not to let empathy cloud my rationality,” she says pointedly. “Whatever it is, I should report back to Overwatch first.” _Also I think he hates me. I don’t want to ruin what little we have between us._

 

“Wouldn’t you report this to Jack, though?”

 

Angela scoffs out a wry laugh, jumping off the desk and walking towards the door. “He is exactly the reason why I’m here, Commander Reyes.” She scans her fingerprint and the door opens with a ‘whoosh’. Turning back to face him, she smiles, adding, “I don’t know how he tolerates all your nonsense. You really are one lucky guy.”

 

Surprisingly, Gabriel lets out an amused laugh. Angela walks out of his office and almost misses his ‘I know’ right before the door closes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There is him on one side, and her on the other end. Angela wants to slap herself. She wants to go in, walk through the door as she always has been doing. She doesn’t know what’s holding her back this time.

 

 _Stop lying to yourself_. A voice whispers gleefully. _Of course you know. You are scared._

 

Of what? She looks at the cherry blossoms she arranged in a small glass vase filled with water. There is nothing to be afraid of. It is just him. Him, who has been so distant and cold. He doesn’t really want the enhancements, Angela knows. Or she wants to think she knows. She isn’t so sure of what Shimada is thinking anymore. Or was she ever sure? With the exception of their time outside the forest, he has been a closed book, unwilling to be turned, unwilling to be read. She breathes in, and scans her thumb. The door opens and Shimada lifts his head to face her. His eyes rest on the vase, surprised and curious. An unspoken tension hangs over the air like heavy morning dew. She hears her heart pounding in her ears.

 

“McCree got these back from Hanamura,” she breaks the silence, almost stammering. Her hands start to sweat for no reason. She curses at herself internally. “Thought you’d like these, despite… of your circumstances there.” He doesn’t say anything, watching her as she sets the vase on the desk next to his bed. Shimada stares at it, albeit intensely, as if whatever memory that jogged up in his mind would come to life. She sits on the chair beside his bed, still playing with her thumbs.

 

“I know what homesick feels like a little too well,” she smiles, bittersweet. “Whether it be a place, or a person. Hopefully these remind you of a home that was good to you.”

 

He remains silent, and well, Angela knows she tried. She, too, doesn’t know why she’s being so relentless. Maybe his presence brings her comfort because he reminds her of Japan. Of Hanamura, of her parents, of Genji. Homes that were good to her. Homes that were gone too soon. But she tried, and you either win or give up. Angela nods, accepting his rejection of her approaches, walking towards the door.

 

“I..” Shimada says, haltingly, making Angela stop. “Wait. Doctor.”

 

She turns back to face him, and he isn’t looking her way at first. He struggles to say the right words, eyes darting around, lost in thought. But Angela waits. Finally, he slowly lifts his head to face her, and gives her that same look; the look that gives her a strange feeling, like she is both subliminal and sublime. The air stands still. Waiting, anticipating, hoping.

 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, touching one of the petals softly. “These remind me of the best one.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gabriel comes in during a morning to tell Shimada the details of his new operation. It is the most tense and awkward briefing Angela witnesses, mainly because they were plotting the demise of Shimada’s own family members.

 

(“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asks Gabriel when he gives her the outline for Shimada’s mechanical limbs. She is sitting in her office, coffee in hand and a migraine coming up. The glass surface of her table is cool against her hand, but not enough to dissipate the pain in her head.

 

“He said it himself that it isn’t a problem,” Gabriel shrugs.

 

“I know... but killing his family? His mother, his father? His siblings?”

 

“Well,” Gabriel replies, indifferent. “They tried to kill him.”)

 

 _In the Shimada Clan, violence is always the solution._ It felt like a direct answer to Angela’s question to McCree that day. Did Shimada hear her? He had said that with so much conviction, the certainty, the...regret. Angela finds herself always searching for the best in every person. And maybe, just maybe, she thinks that Shimada doesn’t want to kill his family at all. But she never really knows when it comes to him.

 

“Firstly, I want to say,” Gabriel starts, standing tall at the end of the ward bed. “Welcome to Blackwatch, Shimada.” He looks almost proud of the latter. Shimada, tight-lipped, gives a short nod in response.

 

“Since you’re in the clear about the whole situation about your family trying to assassinate you,” Gabriel continues. “I believe that we can start exchanging first names now, no?”

 

“No.” Shimada says immediately. He is looking down, stoic and blank. “Not until this mission is done.”

 

“What? Why not?” Gabriel snorts.

 

“My name has been said by my own family members. I do not want to be reminded of the times when they were good to me. I wish to not use my name until I have honoured it,” he says quietly.

 

“Okay. I’m excited,” Gabriel grins. “When we finish this operation we can finally know the ninja’s name.”

 

An uneasy feeling sinks in Angela’s chest when she hears what Shimada said. “Honour it?” _What honour could come out of killing your own family?_ With her own parents dead and out of her reach, her mind can’t wrap around the thought of it being honourable in any kind.

 

And instead of a dark, soft brown, the colour of his eyes flash grey and red. “The last thing my _anija_ said to me,” he says, a bite in his tone, sounding bitter and wry.“is that with every death, comes honour.”

 

The atmosphere noticeably darkens. The words that Shimada uttered were like scratching against sandpaper. Rough and raw. Even Gabriel coughs into his fist. _Anija_. That word sounded awfully familiar. Angela remembers that its older brother in Japanese. This is a first for her, who all her life as a medic, has developed the mindset that every life is of importance and that death is, well, the very opposite of honour: failure.

 

“I don’t quite get you,” she decides to say, though hesitant as Shimada has his fist clenched in a slight tremor, his mouth in a tight frown and his head low. He pauses before answering, his voice quiet and low.

 

“Because with honour, there is _redemption_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gabriel leaves for lunch after he gone through the basic route of the operation. To Angela, it is a nightmarish bloodbath. From taking down the main security to climbing their way to the private quarters of the clan’s heads. The worst thing is, Angela has to go. She is the only combat medic available in Overwatch for big missions such as this. Blackwatch has yet to find their own, and hence she is their substitute. She is obviously uncomfortable with the situation to say the least, but the fact that this allows her to watch over Shimada’s welfare gives her a little peace of mind.

 

Angela sighs loudly before sitting next to the bed. Shimada’s face is still downcast, looking melancholic, but mostly conflicted. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence, and simply sits where he is in his internal turmoil.

 

“Was your... _anija_ a good person?” she asks, gingerly, trying to find his gaze through her gentle one.

 

Shimada’s head quickly turns to face her, looking surprised. “You know what _anija_ means?”

 

“I had... a few Japanese classes,” she shrugs, embarrassed for no particular reason. Shimada gives a look in between approval and indifference.

 

“My _anija_... you could say he is good at following orders.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Angela shakes her head.

 

“I know what you mean,” he replies, and Angela notices he has the sliver of a sad smile on his lips.

 

“Well,” Angela pauses, her eyes shifting upwards in thought. “Following orders is certainly a good thing. It is very important if I might say.” The picture of her pushing Shimada out of the headquarters pops up in her mind. “But…disobeying some orders can be good too.”

 

“My _anija_ never disobeys orders,” Shimada says hollowly, staring at the ceiling, now lying down on his back.

 

“And is that good?” Angela quietly asks.

 

“It depends,” Shimada says wryly, turning to his side to look at her. His face is impassive but Angela can see the tiniest of cracks on his mask. Cracks of hurt and disappointment. And, strangely, the smallest cracks were of fear.

 

“If following the order to kill your brother is a good thing.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

  _His brother killed him._

 

Blankly, Angela fixes a few bolts in Shimada’s new mechanical right arm. She did the proportions wrong. Torbjörn is going to give her an earful. Its her fault though, she’s been so distracted lately.

 

_His brother killed him._

 

Her mind trails away again. She scolds herself. Two knocks on the door and her head whips towards the sound. McCree stands by the entrance. Instead of his usual smug smile, concern draws itself over his features. She drops the mechanical arm on the table gently, knowing what he is here for.

 

_His brother killed him._

 

“Doc,” McCree says slowly, as if she were a child. “Reyes is worried about you.”

 

Angela huffs. “Worried about me? He’s more worried about Shimada’s new body not finishing.” At that, McCree’s eyes shift to the incomplete arm. She sighs loudly, moving her chair for him to have some space in front of it.

 

“Aw darlin’, he cares for you too. Anythin’ on your mind?” He gently asks instead of commenting on what a shitty job she did on the arm. She is grateful for that.

 

“Yes,” she sighs, her emotions as cluttered as her desk. “Too many.”

 

Angela’s hair has been unwashed for two days, tied loosely by a hairband. Her skin is nearly reaching a sickly shade of pale, starkly contrasting the dark eye-bags sinking deeply under her eyes. It is no surprise that McCree is concerned. Biting her lower lip, she turns to face him, and her gaze wanders to McCree’s previously injured arm. It has now healed nicely, only leaving a roundish scar the size of the arrowhead.

 

“You know who did that to you?” She says hollowly, pointing at his scar.

 

“Oh, that little bruise. Don’t you remember, doc? Its-“

 

“Its Shimada’s older brother.” She holds McCree’s gaze, waiting for him to put the pieces together. McCree takes a while, before opening his mouth in a shocked ‘o’.

 

“You- y’mean it’s his brother who did that to ‘em?” McCree sputters, hands messing up his already messy hair. Angela gives a tight smile.

 

“He told me. I just... I just can’t properly wrap my head around it,” she groans, looking anguished. “But we don’t know if that man you saw is definitely responsible for both of you.”

 

“But he is,” McCree wrings his hands, looking like he’s had an epiphany. “there was no other forced entry. We checked before the guards were alerted and we had to get the hell out of there.”

 

Angela peers at McCree’s scar, more skeptical than he is about their hypothesis now that she thinks about it. “Wait,” she says suddenly. “This can’t be it. That man had a bow and arrow, but looking at Genji’s wounds he was struck by a large sword... and fire.”

 

“Yeah, he did look like he was burnt real bad,” McCree agrees. “That was what I found odd ‘bout it, because there was no fire.”

 

Something flashes in her mind. Dragons. Shimada. Gabriel’s words about their connection became clear.

 

“Jes- McCree. What do dragons breathe?”

 

“Uh... air?” McCree’s eyebrows raise like she asked the stupidest question in the world. Angela rolls her eyes.

 

“They breathe fire, you dummy.” She deadpans, and McCree replies with a sheepish ‘oh’.

 

“That’s because his brother used his own dragons against Shimada,” Angela explains. “Remember how there was a green dragon outlining Shimada’s sword? Must’ve been the same thing with his brother.”

 

McCree huffs, hands on his hips. “That’s one heck of a messy family, doc.”

 

“Sure is.” she agrees silently, frowning. Slow anger starts to bubble underneath her, subconsciously starting to resent this older brother of Shimada. “I can’t believe his _own_ brother would do something like that to him.”

 

McCree nods sympathetically, turning the pages of the blueprints absentmindedly. Angela had drawn a more detailed and precise outline from Gabriel’s scrawly one. To McCree, a work of art. To Angela, a hell lot of work she has to complete.

 

McCree stares at the blueprints, but it is obvious he is thinking about something else. Angela grabs her coffee cup, downing more than half of the bitter caffeine. The room is quiet for a while, as she waits for McCree to gather his thoughts together. Her head dips constantly with tiredness, trying to shake away the exhaustion. She isn’t one for long conversations and awkward situations, and thankfully McCree falls into neither category when they are in the same room, although he can be really annoying when he wants to be. Angela supposes that its part of his charm, but like now, when his mind is far from making jokes, she realises they’re more alike than she knew.

 

But he finally breaks the silence. He looks up at Angela with wide eyes.

 

“If that guy was the one who killed Shimada,” he says, slowly. “Then why was he running away?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There is a repetition of things for a while. In the morning, Angela brings Shimada his breakfast, and works on the rest of his mechanical body until it is time for lunch. In the afternoon, she checks on her other patients before sneaking back into Shimada’s room to take a nap. For now, it is the most ideal place for her to do so. If she is in her office, people start barging in and bombarding her with questions and requests. It is mentally, physically draining and practically sucking the energy out of Angela’s body. Her room is too far away and, well, no one really dares to come into Shimada’s room except for Gabriel. Angela gets to enjoy a forty-five minute nap on the desk near Shimada’s ward bed in a temporary quiet bliss. He doesn’t mind; she comes as silently as she goes which is exactly what he likes.

 

Although she wishes he would start a conversation for once.

 

At night, once she is done remodelling Shimada’s body and slowly piecing his body together bit by bit, she bids him goodnight. Though a verbal response is absent, he gives her a nod of acknowledgment. They don’t talk about the information about his brother that he revealed to her. He never mentioned anything about his family again, and she’s too weary to ask.

 

The night is short, and it is long. It is a repetition of things. She dreams of falling into cold water, her lungs crying out for air, again and again, only to reemerge on the water surface in the same endless dark abyss. She is cold and alone, unable to control anything and everything. And every night, Angela finds her hand dipping itself into the water she stands on. It never turns out to be warm like the last time, freezing her hand up instead and pulling her in. She wakes up, covered in sweat and gasping between seconds.

 

It is hard to fall back asleep after that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Shimada stretches open his fingers before closing them. He stares at its metallic palm in quiet awe.

 

“Don’t be too impressed,” Angela teases, pleased that he is responding well to his new right arm. “It is still a prototype. Torbjörn has yet to perfect it.”

 

He doesn’t give a response, but she can tell that he’s the happiest he’s been throughout his stay. He extends his whole robotic arm, constantly forming a fist as if he wouldn’t be able to do it anymore if he stopped. Though without a smile, his mood is infectious.

 

“Any pain, or discomfort?” She asks, opening up a touchscreen and logging in a report.

 

“No,” Shimada replies. “It… feels so real.”

 

“I’m glad, then,” Angela says, albeit giving a tight smile. _A weapon_ , the voice whispers in her head. _That is what you are making him to be_. _As you build him up from the outside, you are going to destroy him from within._ She tries to ignore the pulling weight of guilt sinking in her stomach. It has been nudging her ever since the decision had been made.

 

She checks his vitals. Clear. Healthy. “How is the reaction time?” she says. “Is it slow?”

 

“It is perfect,” Shimada replies, and Angela thinks he almost sounds a little forlorn and wistful. She smiles, bittersweet, and logs it all in the report.

 

“There’s still nerves for you to be able to hold and feel things,” she continues. “So just remember to be careful still.”

 

At that, Shimada touches his mattress. He frowns. “I can’t feel it.”

 

A tiny bolt of panic jolts Angela’s heart. “What?” She mutters worriedly, immediately taking Shimada’s synthetic hand and holding it in her own. “This can’t be, I-“ she falters at the soft ‘oh’ that slips out Shimada’s mouth. Heat instantly rushes to her face at his expression; a face of placid surprise and unwavering eye contact.

 

“What?” She repeats, her voice almost a squeak, obviously flustered at Shimada’s reaction towards their hand contact. She wants to hit herself. This isn’t like her at all.

 

“I can feel the warmth from your hand,” he replies, unfazed by her reaction.

 

“Don’t be silly,” she says, hoping he doesn’t catch the nervousness between her words. “It isn’t like you’ve never held my hand before.”

 

 _Oh, no._ she cringes at herself internally. _That sounded stupid. And awkwardly flirty._

 

If he did have any indication about any of that, he didn’t show it. “No,” he simply says, staring at their hands and tilting his head to a side like a confused puppy. “It feels different from my normal one.”

 

He lets go, and the coolness of the metal vaporises from her skin. Ironically, it is the opposite of liberating.

 

“Well, it is just a prototype,” Angela shrugs, giving him a gentle smile. “I’ll make sure to get the nerves right by then.”

 

“And the _shurikens_?”

 

“And the _shurikens.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

With the help of Torbjörn and the distractions from Reinhardt, Angela finally gets the final product of Shimada’s right arm done. It slots neatly into the gap at Shimada’s shoulder through a minor surgery. Black with red running on the upper part, the Blackwatch logo shines proudly on his shoulder as requested by Gabriel. And the Commander was proud. But Angela felt it strange that she had more satisfaction watching Shimada’s lightened expression rather than Gabriel’s loud guffaws of praise.

 

“Heard that the day finally came,” he says, grinning as he walks into Shimada’s room with a board. Angela recognises what it is; a shooting target identical to the ones in their practice arenas. “Show me what you got, ninja.”

 

“I’m sorry, but is that safe?” Angela interrupts when Gabriel holds the target board right in front of his chest, standing vertically opposite where Shimada faces.

 

“Oh, worry somewhere else, doc,” Gabriel snorts teasingly. “This is a sturdy thing. McCree’s bullets can’t even cut through it. They only make a dent.”

 

Angela purses her lips and folds her arms together. If he says so.

 

Gabriel tilts his head towards the board he is holding, urging Shimada to have a go. Shimada hesitantly holds three _shrurikens_ that unloaded themselves from his robotic forearm.

 

“Go on,” Gabriel says. “We don’t have all day.”

 

Shimada nods cautiously, and before Angela knows it, his right arm is a blur, outstretched, and the sound of cutting wind is heard. Her eyes slowly trail to the target board, where the shurikens are all squeezed into the bullseye. Her mouth opens slightly in wonder. Gabriel, too, is dumbfounded in the very least. He swallows silently, turning the board to reveal the shiny sharp ends poking through the other side.

 

“I could’ve died today,” he murmurs to himself. Angela snorts.

 

“Sorry,” Shimada mutters, almost sounding meek. “I couldn’t control its strength.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is the third week she’s been waking up with a pounding heartbeat and cold sweat. Angela groans, turning to her side, looking at the alarm clock. Two in the morning.

 

“I’m getting tired of the same old dream,” she says to herself and the white walls. “Give me something else.” Neither responds.

 

It is fruitless to try and fall back asleep after this. She considers trying pills for insomnia, but Angela is unwilling to go back to the same cycle of nightmares. And she is too conscious of her health to down enough pills just below the overdose to blackout.

 

She wants to say she doesn’t know why she is unable to sleep, but she knows that that is straight up lying. She’s just been ignoring the answer for a while now, searching for other solutions. Turns out there were none. Sighing, she slips her feet into fluffy slippers and tugs herself out of her room and across the hallway. It is quiet and dark. Glass windows line up on the left wall, the soft beam of moonlight guiding her way.

 

Angela walks past the wards, then her office, stopping in front of the door next to it. Special Ward 01. Placing her finger near the fingerprint reader, she hesitates. Who is she kidding? It is too selfish of her to invade someone’s privacy and time for her own motives. But before she can retract her hand, she accidentally leans forward and it scans her finger. The doors open promptly as she curses at herself internally. It is too late now.

 

Angela is surprised to find Shimada still up, gazing through the window as he usually does. As he hears the doors, he turns to her.

 

“Did… I wake you?” Angela says cautiously, although she already knows the answer.

 

Shimada turns back to the window. “No,” he replies. “I couldn’t sleep as well.”

 

She walks in, and the doors shut after her. Shimada looks back at her expectantly, waiting for what she had to say. She swallows an invisible lump in her throat, and coughs into her hand.

 

“Um… This- This is hard to say,” she lets out a flustered laugh. “I can’t sleep.”

 

“Okay…” Shimada replies, raising an eyebrow curiously.

 

Angela sighs, stepping closer although she knows she looks like a mess. “No, you see, I can’t sleep because… of you.”

 

He blinks, bemused by her answer. She immediately starts to regret this. But well, she can’t go back now.

 

“I can’t fall asleep unless I hear…” she waves a hand over him, her ears pink with embarrassment. “…this.”

 

“This?” He looks down at himself in wonder, and for the period where neither of them say anything, the soft whirring of his mechanical body hums amidst the silence.

 

“Yes, that’s why I can take naps so easily here,” Angela admits, letting out a huff to get rid of the heat in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, but can I just… sleep at the desk here like I do in the afternoon? I promise I won’t make any noise.”

 

Shimada doesn’t say anything, nodding slowly. Angela mutters an abashed ‘thanks’ and makes her way to the desk near his ward bed. However, she is about to sit when he says, “Just come here, doctor.”

 

“Huh?” She almost sputters. She turns to face him, his head tilting to the direction of the guest chair next to his ward bed.

 

“You can sleep here instead, if you want,” he says. His voice is steady and synthetically wiry.

 

“Oh no, no,” she assures him. “I don’t want to disturb you any more than I should.”

 

But Shimada is oddly unperturbed, and politely unrelenting. “It isn’t like you’ve never slept here before,” he says, and Angela can’t help but think he’s teasing her a little bit. She is unable to contain a small smile.

 

This is unprofessional. And she knows. Angela already scolded herself for falling asleep there when Shimada had awakened for the first time. _Let me be selfish for once._ She pleads with herself _._

 

“Oh, alright,” she says. “Since you’re okay with it.”

 

Angela sits down on the chair. She sits straight for a while, looking slightly awkward, unsure if she really should be doing this. But Shimada seems fine so far, and gives her a small nod to tell her that it is okay. Lying her head gently on the side of his bed, she faces him. Shimada is back to looking at the window now. Back that usual, crestfallen face of regret. Back to thinking about his brother, she now knows. But she still does not dare to ask. After a few silent minutes, the quiet hum of his mechanical parts lull her into a slight state of drowsiness. He is so near her now, and yet he seems so far away. From reality. From everything. From her.

 

“Are you happy?” Her tiredness makes her blurt out softly. Her eyelids are heavy, threatening to close. She barely makes out Shimada turning to her at her question with an expression she can’t really put her finger on.

 

He takes a while to answer. “No,” he admits quietly. The last thing she sees is his soft brown eyes before her own shut completely. Fatigue starts to overcome her. _This really helps me sleep_ , she thinks contentedly as slumber pulls her under.

 

“But, I think,” his voice sifts in and out of her consciousness. “I am not as sad as I used to be.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Angela finds herself back on water. A black void, a dark abyss, the same cold and lonely nightmare. Disappointed, she wraps her arms around herself to fight the cold. She thought that it would at least be a dreamless sleep.

 

All of a sudden, her legs start to move. The water around her feet ripples, and she braces herself to get plunged in before they stop. However, Angela finds herself standing in front of a small, thin trunk, with young branches barely grown out from the stems. An anomaly it is, and of itself as well; the fact that a tree can grow on nothing but water. But strange things do happen in Angela’s dreams.

 

She finds herself crouching down before it, her hand extending to touch one of the flower buds. And upon contact, unexpectedly, she no longer feels the cold.

 

A cherry blossom flower blooms. A small thing, seemingly insignificant in the vast sea of nothingness. But it is enough to give her a little bit of comfort. Another life in this black hole of an abyss. Another light glows faintly in the dark.

 

And in her heart, something starts to blossom as well.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She awakes when gentle streams of sunlight flow into the room. She feels a weight on her back, realising his blanket is draped around her shoulders instead of where it usually is, making a secret smile slip from her lips. The cherry blossoms in the vase are iridescent and glistening against the backdrop of the white mountain caps and his serene sleeping face.

 

 _Beautiful_ , Angela unknowingly thinks, unsure of which one she is referring to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Progress is good. Progress is moving forward. As Angela starts working on Shimada’s legs, different people come to visit. And to her own contentment, they are not here for her, but rather for Shimada. She appreciates that they are at least making an effort to get to know their new member.

 

She lets Shimada try out a new prototype for his legs, when Ana walks in unexpectedly. He looks hesitant when she does, uncertain of her.

 

“Hi Captain,” Angela says. “What brings you here?”

 

“I wanted to see how the ninja is,” she says in her warm accent. “I am Amari, Captain of Overwatch. Commander Reyes told me we would only be on first-name basis until after the operation, yes?”

 

“Yes, Captain,” Shimada says solemnly. “I look forward to working with you.”

 

Ana lets out a laugh, looking amused, but not unkindly. “I like him,” she winks at Angela, who beams. “He’s more talkative than what I’ve heard of him the last time.”

 

She turns to Shimada, before adding, “My apologies, but we won’t be around each other too much. You’ll be tied to people like Commander Reyes and McCree. Speaking of which, has that boy been here yet?”

 

Angela purses her lips. “Nope. He’s a shy one. He doesn’t even brought my food in here.”

 

Ana frowns. “Wait.” And with that, she goes off, only to come back promptly with a meek, reluctant-looking McCree.

 

“You didn’t have to pull my ear,” he mutters under his breath, cradling his reddened ear with one hand. Ana snorts.

 

“You know I have to.” She replies curtly. “He will be your new partner soon. Be nice.”

 

“I’m aware!” McCree retorts indignantly, red with embarrassment. He exchanges glances with Angela and she gives him an amused grin. He scowls in return. Finally, facing Shimada, he smiles nervously, scratching the back of his head.

 

“Erm… howdy,” he says. “Name’s McCree. The one who brought you those flowers. So if you wanna know who did the hard work for doc’s flirtin’, its all me-“

 

“I already told him its you,” Angela hisses, flushing as she stops McCree from teasing her any longer. He retorts with a smug smirk in response. Oh, how she wants to kick him. But Shimada, on the other hand, looks as if he already enjoys McCree’s company. He extends his mechanical arm in lieu of a handshake. McCree stares at it, startled that Shimada had started any form of interaction at all. But he does extend his own in return.

 

“Greetings,” Shimada says politely as they shake hands, McCree still seemingly shocked that Shimada talks at all. “I look forward to working with you, McCree.”

 

“Likewise,” McCree replies, in awe. He quickly turns to Angela, an excited grin plastered on his face. Angela mirrors his expression back. So he did want to get to know Shimada after all. He just didn’t know if the feeling would be reciprocated.

 

Just like her. But for her case, she had to try a million times.

 

Ana watches with her as McCree starts to babble gossip about the other Overwatch members to Shimada, eager to continue conversation with the latter. Shimada simply sits there, wide-eyed, absorbing in the useless information with surprising interest.

 

“You really are better than you know,” Ana says, gazing at the two men forming a newfound friendship.

 

Angela knows that Ana is referring to her, but with a fond smile, she still says, “he knows.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His wish comes true. Angela and Torbjörn finally finish the final product of his legs. Shimada doesn’t show it, but it is obvious that he is excited. And when he is unable to succumb to sleep under the influence of anaesthesia, Angela is certain.

 

(“If you don’t sleep, we can’t do the surgery,” she says, although she chuckles at his flustered state. He had barely talked or moved, but she’s sure his mind is far too awake than it should be right now.

 

“Alright,” he says, breathing in. “I am sorry, doctor.”

 

“Just count backwards from ten thousand,” she replies kindly, injecting another shot of anaesthesia again.)

 

It is a longer surgery than when she did his arm. And by the time she is done, Shimada is not awake yet. She logs in a report, before slumping on a chair in exhaustion. She gazes at Shimada, now complete. She wants to say that she is happy for him, but a part of her knows that she really isn’t. The fact that all he wanted was to walk again proved how much he valued being human. She wonders if he will be happy with himself now.

 

“For what its worth,” she whispers, fingers dangerously near his. “You’re plenty human to me.”

 

 _But who am I to tell you that?_ She thinks in her head, though it is tempting to ask out loud. _Who am I to you?_ A twinge of feeling pulls at her heartstrings. It is a reckless feeling; like the narrowing space between their fingertips, like her longing want to hold his hand. She has been pushing down this feeling for a while now; it is a treacherous thin silver web. She doesn’t know when the web will tear and cause her crashing down, falling into a bottomless pit. And she doesn’t want that. Because Angela knows she wants herself to fall.

 

Yes, a reckless feeling. A foolish feeling. And she has no time for foolishness. But, oh, how she wants to _fall_.

 

The sound of chatter outside causes her fingers to close in on themselves, forming a small fist. Angela grits her teeth behind a closed mouth, pulling her hand back to her side. Perhaps this is for the best. Jack and Gabriel walk in, eyeing Shimada in his full body. Jack gives her a gruff compliment, and Gabriel looks as if he could be glowing. Angela positively thinks he is.

 

“Doc, you really have outdone yourself this time,” Gabriel grins. “He totally looks better than the blueprints I made.”

 

“That’s because you aren’t a good artist,” Angela drawls, causing a muscle in Gabriel’s cheek to twitch. He glares at Jack to add something, but the Strike Commander ignores the both of them, staring at Shimada’s face, the spell of sleep wearing off. They wait, anticipating, before Shimada’s eyes flutter open wearily. He must’ve felt different, because his right leg jerks suddenly in surprise that it can move at all.

 

“You look amazing, ninja,” Gabriel laughs, patting him on the shoulder. The man is still dazed and confused from sleep, barely reacting to Gabriel. “You hunk. I bet Mercy made you a nice butt.”

 

“Reyes!” She hisses, turning pink. So that must be where McCree’s learning all his annoying, unwanted comments.

 

Shimada blinks a few times, coming into terms with his surroundings. He squints, surprised at Jack and Gabriel’s presence. His eyes eventually lie on the pair of robotic legs in front of him, and after a few seconds their toes wiggle hesitantly. They stop, as if Shimada can’t believe they are real. He blinks again, and then his foot moves side to side, slowly. It is so foreign to him, and yet so familiar, coming back to him like recalling an old memory from a photograph.

 

And before it hits her, he smiles. His very first smile. Not a slight one from behind a mask, and not a huge one either. His smile is small, but it is real. And when it reaches his eyes, spilling with emotion, Angela allows herself to fall. Just for a little bit, and not forever. But in that eternity of a second, she lets go. And when time stands still, she crashes hard, and she burns. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o boy


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this past week has been so busy for me, so for the delay, here's a longer chapter!

Baby steps. Angela helps Shimada out of his ward bed. He isn’t much bigger than her in terms of height, but he is broad and heavy. When he leans in on her with all his weight, Angela has to force her legs not to give way. But she perseveres, helping him up onto his shaky robotic legs.

 

She feels bad when she sees Shimada’s face frowning at the difficulty of this great obstacle he didn’t expect to be so hard: walking. ‘Baby steps’, she tells him. It doesn’t dissipate his dejection, but he gives a polite nod at her effort for trying.

 

“It’ll be okay,” she assures him, hoping he will take at least some of it to heart. “After a few rounds of therapy, you’ll be up and running. Everyone who doesn’t walk for that long will find it difficult too.”

 

Angela decides to leave out the part where he might take a longer time to get adjusted due to his synthetic legs. In this time and age, robotic limbs fit like a sleeve and performs its function just as well, if not better. Despite this, it does take a longer time to get used to. Because although it feels real, it isn’t. Such a small flaw which remains to be unsolved serves as a reminder of that. And in actuality, when she says Shimada is finally complete, reality is not quite as sweet.

 

An arm holds onto her shoulder tightly, and the other grips the side of the bed until his knuckles turn white. He is cautious, undeniably stubborn about not making any mistakes, yet frustrated that such a simple task requires so much focus. Shimada’s right leg finally moves forward a step, rigid and stiff. He lets out a relieved sigh, looking as if he ran mountains instead.

 

“They are right in front of me,” he mutters. “But they feel further than they actually are.”

 

Gazing at him, she ruefully replies, “That happens more often than not.”

 

She assists him in walking until the end of the bed. She can tell that he is reluctant to let go of the bed handle. He doesn’t want to face the possible prospect of losing control over his legs and falling. _It isn’t so bad._ She wants to tell him, eyes flickering across his sharp jaw, soft slanted eyes, his now inky black hair sweeping across his brow. He must’ve cut off the remaining green streaks. _Falling isn’t so bad. Only if you get back up after it hurts._

 

“You can trust me,” she assures him. She presses the side of her body against his for him to have more space to lean on her. Her arm slips around his metallic waist, giving him more security. “You have to practice. At least until the door and back.”

 

He looks at her, somewhat skeptical, and she scoffs, pinching his real arm. He makes a small noise in shock, glaring at her. “What was that for?”

 

“For doubting me,” she sneers teasingly. “You’d be surprised how strong I am. I can give McCree a run for his money in arm wrestling.”

 

Shimada gives an expression of slight amusement. “I believe you, doctor.”

 

“You do?” Angela’s eyebrows raise, before narrowing. “You aren’t being sarcastic, are you?”

 

At that, he lets go of the bed handle. For a split second, the both of them almost lose balance. He is heavier than she expected, due to metal making up almost his whole body. And he isn’t that strong in controlling his legs either, with the both of them nearly giving way. However, Angela still manages to keep Shimada upright. She huffs, holding up his weight by leaning back, messing up her perfect ponytail. They take small steps slowly to the entrance of the room, Shimada’s face strained with focus. It is an arduous task for him, and a lesson of patience for her, but they do get to the door in the end. With a tired sigh, she lowers him down gently to sit on the floor as she heaves herself down to sit opposite him.

 

“You already saved my life,” Shimada finally replies simply, his eyes meeting Angela’s, as if he knew the effect it had on her. “I had to place all my bets on you. It is too late to turn back now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He improves, day by day. Through physiotherapy, through the countless days of walking in water and walking on the treadmill, Shimada is finally able to walk properly without the help of Angela or crutches. When she lets him go for the first time without him landing on the floor, he can barely suppress a smile.

 

(Looking back at Angela, he walks a few shaky steps towards her, and with arms stretched out slightly, he tells her, “I did it.”

 

“What did I tell you?” She grins back, heart soaking in his rare boyish smile. “You are better than you know.”)

 

Then, he tries to run. McCree, thinking he still has an advantage, set up a bet on who was the fastest runner between the both of them. He had to pay five dollars to everyone that day.

 

(“You know no one betted on you but yourself, right?” Gabriel says wryly. “Shimada has technologically-enhanced legs, you idiot.”

 

“Well, I’ve seen ‘em hobble around like an old man for days,” McCree retorts, still bitter about losing the bet. “Don’t go blamin’ me for wanting to make easy money.”)

 

A month or two passes, and Angela finds herself watching from the window in her office, Shimada deflecting shots fired by Ana. When he moves, he is fast; only a blur in her eyes. It truly is a stark difference from before. And what it meant, really, is that he is ready for the operation. Angela knows that deep within her heart she has been dreading for the day to come. The whole core of Blackwatch opposed her very own ethics, and yet here she is, under the orders of Overwatch, to help them in this mission. She also isn’t too keen on Shimada killing his own family, though he himself is willing to. She just didn’t want to admit to herself that their beliefs contradicted more than she had imagined.

 

Angela knows she has to tell him about his brother. That he might already be long gone, assuming he was the one who ran away that night. But what she is more weary of is his reaction when she tells him. Will he be relieved that he doesn’t have to kill his brother or angry that his brother slipped through the palm of his hand? The thing is, if she were to put herself in his shoes, Angela doesn’t know how she’d feel as well. But looking at Shimada’s condition now, it is enough to say that he can easily slaughter any man.

 

A weapon. That is what she made him to be. She only hopes he doesn’t think like one.

 

The static from the comm in her ear startles her a little, and Shimada’s voice comes through it. “Doctor,” he says between deep breaths. His practice with Ana must’ve ended. “There is a problem with one of my legs.”

 

“I think I know which one it is,” she replies, gathering her things to move into his ward. “Your left leg acting up again?”

 

“Yes. Could you have a look at it?”

 

Angela nods, before realising he can’t see her. “Sure. Come by your ward. I’ll be there.”

 

Shimada arrives with Ana by his side, the older woman supporting him by the hip. She helps him onto a chair gently, before patting him on the back. Shimada winces and Angela smiles, amused.

 

“You’re incredibly skilled, Shimada. The bullets you deflected nearly hit me back in the head,” Ana grins, proud. She turns to Angela and tilts her head, still smiling. “He’s in your hands, doctor. I’ve got a meeting with Morrison.”

 

And with that, she leaves. Angela waves goodbye before grabbing her caduceus staff. Shimada looks at it, both hesitant and confused.

 

“I’ve been working on this project of mine for a while now,” she says. “Just recently, I can make it project a healing beam that works for both humans and omnics.” She lets out a short embarrassed laugh. “Well, the final goal is actually resurrecting one who is seconds into death, but its not quite complete yet. Though, it heals the body pretty well.”

 

She places the staff inches away from Shimada’s leg. Peering at it, she sighs, commenting, “You overexerted it again. Your legs aren’t that sturdy. I’ll have to make another batch later on.”

 

“I only wanted to walk,” Shimada replies, with an expression Angela can’t put a finger on. “You have already granted my wish, doctor.”

 

Angela laughs out a scoff. “But I haven’t granted Blackwatch’s wish.” But realising what he said, her features fall, and she bites her lower lip. “You don’t actually want to kill your clan, do you?”

 

Shimada’s eyes dart from her to the floor, unwilling to reply.

 

“Look, Shimada,” Angela says gently, sitting down next to him. “I think-“

 

“I do want to kill them.” Shimada says, in a low tone, almost a growl. Nausea crawls up Angela’s skin. And there it is, the same red flash that dashes across his eyes for no more than a second. It makes her feel like he is in another dimension entirely. “I am glad that those I truly love are already dead.”

 

A sick feeling plunges Angela’s gut. “Dead?”

 

Shimada’s features soften. He looks at her, melancholia swimming behind his eyes. “My mother died when I was young. My father, as you know, died recently. They were the only two that stopped the clan from wiping me out earlier.”

 

 _Shimada Sojiro. So Father was able to prolong his life for a couple more years._ Her heart aches for a friend. She wants to tell him she knows about his father, but the woeful atmosphere tells her to do otherwise.

 

Gently touching his forearm as comfort, Angela gingerly asks, “Is your brother good with the bow and arrow?”

 

Shimada looks at her, puzzled at her random question. Still, he contemplates it seriously. “He was definitely better at it than me. But he was the best at sword-fighting.” She sees the same cracked mask he puts on when he talks about his older brother. “That is why he has all his limbs still attached. I, on the other hand, am not as strong.”

 

She tells him about the deranged man wielding a bow and arrow on the veranda that day, and how he is the largest suspect as Shimada’s older brother. He listens intently, first with confusion, and then with a hardened expression. “It is him,” Shimada says coldly when Angela is finally finished. “He ran away.”

 

“Did you… want to…” she pauses, hesitant, although Shimada already knows what she wants to ask.

 

He looks at his hands, one of human flesh and the other of metal and screws. “I know my brother,” he says softly, guarding the nostalgia that threatened to seep into his voice. “He always acted on the belief of redemption from wrongdoings, which is probably why he ran away in the first place.”

 

Mellow yellow and orange streams cascade into room, the sun sets gracefully behind the snowy mountain caps, and it should make Shimada’s irises the colour of warm honey -as Angela has come to notice - but instead, they stay a glacial grey.

 

“I wanted to give him the redemption he deserves.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

With Shimada on their side, the basis of the operation becomes simpler. They have a more familiar and complex outline of the Shimada Castle, along with information about the security shifts. Although she is a valued member of this operation, Angela can’t help but feel like an outcast. All the other members are official Blackwatch personnel except for her. And even though Shimada has only joined them for only a short period of time, he has easily integrated himself in the methodology of the organisation, considering that he was trained as an assassin for his clan in the past.

 

She isn’t used to being in the shadows like they are. Still, she had a job to do. And it was to keep them safe.

 

Gabriel unrolls the blueprint of the Castle and sets it on the table before them. The atmosphere of Meeting Room 02 is uncomfortably stiff. Even McCree wears a hardened brow, his mouth set in a tight line. Angela knows that he is usually very focused while on missions, but she just hasn’t seen it enough to get used to it.

 

“Shimada has informed me that there is a wall at the back of the castle that isn’t too hard to scale. That is our point of entry,” Gabriel starts, circling the area on the blueprint. “We infiltrate at exactly 10:30, nighttime. That is when they have a change in shifts and a five minute buffer time.”

 

“At least we don’t have to knock out that many guards like last time,” McCree comments, shaking his head. “They were tough ones.”

 

Gabriel gives a grim nod. “Exactly. We won’t need to scout the whole area like last time, either. Shimada will be able to lead us to the quarters of the Shimada elders, won’t you?”

 

Shimada nods. “Leave it to me.”

 

“Other than that, avoid unnecessary bloodshed,” Gabriel adds. “Unless its Plan B, of course. The objective is only to dismantle the current leadership system.”

 

“I rather we don’t kill anyone at all,” McCree mutters, and Angela nods in agreement.

 

Shimada stares at the blueprints, unfazed. “My people are stubborn. They will not change their ways if we have mercy on them.”

 

Gabriel eyes them, and clicks his tongue to get their attention. “Back to the plan, people. We’re assuming that it won’t be a fast and easy operation if they sound the alarm once they are aware of our position. So, I’m thinking of creating a diversion in the case that it happens.”

 

“Split up,” McCree replies. “The rendezvous point should be at pick-up point, where the dropship is.”

 

Gabriel nods, and turns to face Angela. She had been silent the entire meeting, and unsurprisingly so. She stands out like a sore thumb. “Since we only have one healer, the pair you are in will be the distraction. This will give the other pair time to escape as they will be more vulnerable.”

 

Angela swallows an invisible lump in her throat. This is an extremely risky plan. She had heard that Blackwatch deals with their missions without a solid backbone. She didn’t know that it would be to this extent.

 

But before she can say anything, Shimada beats her to it. “I’ll go with her,” he says firmly. “I am the most agile. I can be an effective hindrance to them.”

 

McCree smirks boyishly, murmuring, “damn showoff.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When they leave for Japan, Jack is the only one who sends them off. Angela and Shimada are already seated inside of the dropship. The latter had an air of indifference, but if Angela were to search for any emotion he hid within himself, she’d say he almost looked forlorn. She looks down to stare at her hands, bitter that she is unable to do anything about it, as she bites the inside of her cheek. The engines of the dropship roar to life, allowing it to hover a few metres off the ground. McCree lingers at the entrance of the dropship, calling out to Gabriel who still stands on the landing pad.

 

“Commander Reyes!” McCree yells, waving his hand furiously to urge Gabriel to jump onto the ship. “Hurry up, or we’re leavin’ without you!”

 

Gabriel seemingly ignores him, faces Jack, and grins.

 

“The others too busy?” Gabriel says loudly to Jack over the loud chopping noise of the dropship. Jack frowns, rubbing the nape of his neck tiredly.

 

“I’m not even supposed to be here. Amari is helping me to buy time.” he replies. He pauses, eyeing them on the dropship, before stiffly patting Gabriel on the shoulder. “You be safe out there.”

 

Gabriel scoffs, the confident grin still plastered on his face. “I’ll see you when I see you, Morrison.” Then, he turns and hops on the dropship. The entrance slowly starts to close up, Jack’s face gradually disappearing from their sights. Angela hears cutting wind from the outside; the ship starting to move away from the headquarters.

 

“Took you long enough,” McCree says sarcastically at Gabriel, playing with Peacekeeper. “Thought you’d never come.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Gabriel scowls, knocking McCree over the head lightly, the latter yelping in surprise.

 

“How long to Japan?” Angela asks, strapping herself with the seatbelt.

 

“Four hours, and I’d suggest you all get some sleep before we reach. We won’t be damn tourists,” Gabriel replies, taking the seat next to her, closing his eyes. “As soon as we reach we’re gonna make our move.”

 

“Aw man, there was this place with the most delicious ramen when I was in Hanamura,” McCree groans. “Can we at least eat there? Its called… uhh…”

 

“Rikimaru,” Shimada says quietly, and McCree’s eyes widen, recognising the name.

 

“ _Yes_ , Rikimaru! God, that shit’s good,” McCree says. “Whaddya say we grab a bite to eat there?”

 

Gabriel opens his eyes slowly, and scorns.

 

“No.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Oh, I love this old movie.” In the seemingly crowded area, his voice still echoes around her. She looks up from the bowl of ramen, finding herself staring at the side of Genji’s head. The smaller boy had his eyes transfixed on the small television tucked in the corner of the ceiling. Angela peers at it, the quality of the movie showing is indeed old. Very old.

 

“I used to watch this from Father’s western film collection,” Genji sighs contentedly, resting his head on the palm of his hands. “Its called Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

 

“Whats that?” She finds herself saying, pointing at the man on the screen pushing large buttons on a weird device.

 

“Father has an antique just like that,” Genji exclaims. “Its called a typewriter, I think. Can you believe people used to write on that?”

 

The man on the screen suddenly stops typing. He turns around, and looks as if he hears something, but Angela doesn’t know what because the television is on mute. The man opens a large vintage-looking window, and when looking down, Angela realises that he had heard a woman singing on the lower floor on her balcony. She is beautifully serene, and her singing has the man mesmerized. And in the seemingly crowded area, Genji, still watching the television, starts to sing a strangely familiar tune. But this time, his voice rings in her ears. An uneasy feeling lies at the back of her throat. The small ramen shop begins to spin and spin in front of her, nauseating and sickening. HIs voice distorts and becomes unrealistically inhuman, making Angela close her eyes in fear and covering her ears with her hands. Not again.

 

_Moon river, wider than a mile._

 

“Please, stop,” Angela whimpers, getting off her chair and crouching on the ground, only to find it wet. She looks down in shock; water that appeared out of nowhere rapidly rises upwards. Hurriedly, she looks around, but everyone has disappeared, even Genji, though his voice still bounces off the empty black walls. They close in on her, making her reach a crescendo of claustrophobia.

 

“Genji?” She screams, on the verge of tears. “Where are you?”

 

_I’m crossing you in style some day._

 

The water engulfs her, ridding her of any access to oxygen. She screams again, but a voiceless one. Her lungs pull themselves inwards, desperate for air. An eerie beam of light shines through the water and onto her face, making her squint. She peers upwards. A full moon gleams above, its watery reflection her only company. She thrashes her limbs, swimming towards the moon, trying to break the water’s surface, but it only seems to be further and further every time she tries harder.

 

_Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker-_

 

“Doctor... Doctor!”

 

Her eyes flick open immediately, and she heaves, coughing deeply. Arms surround her, patting her on the back. Subconsciously, she wipes her face, and is surprised to find tears.

 

Angela looks up; Shimada’s face staring back at her, his brown eyes filled with worry. At their eye contact, his hands immediately retract from her. He stands up, albeit awkwardly.

 

“Sorry,” she mutters. “Just a bad dream.”

 

“I’ll say,” Gabriel replies. Angela turns, finding the the entrance of the dropship already open. McCree is standing outside, though he keeps peering in, curious as to why the rest are taking so long to come out. “Right when we landed, you started to cry and struggle in your sleep.”

 

She doesn’t reply, ironically exhausted from resting, and unbuckles herself. Pretending not to see Shimada’s concerned face, she walks out of the ship. The weather isn’t as harsh as Switzerland, and the cool night breeze is refreshing.

 

It isn’t that she does not appreciate his concern. In fact she’s pleasantly surprised he showed concern at all. However, her embarrassment overrode any other feeling that dwelled inside.

 

Its been years since she set foot on Japan. It is strange. She thought that being in Japan would be a one-way trip to nostalgia, but all she feels is a numbing emptiness. She steals a glance at Shimada, and instantly knows that the latter feels the same. What they are about to do is hardly a time for nostalgia.

 

“Where are we?” She asks, putting on her Valkyrie suit. A custom black one was made just for this mission. Gabriel had said that the yellow and white were a dead giveaway. She is only too eager to agree. She doesn’t think black is a very nice colour on her.

 

“The valley behind Shimada Castle, aka the rendezvous point.” Gabriel says, adjusting his beanie. “Alright, gang. Let’s get a move on. We don’t have all night.”

 

Shimada Castle is, in a word, beautiful. Beige-coloured walls that exude power and humbleness all together, wearing cherry blossom trees on their sleeves. In the darkness of the night, it stands out like a glowing lighthouse. Angela has to stop and take in its elegance. To think that behind this innocent facade lies the slick trail of crime and treachery. But as Angela has come to notice, Shimadas always have cracks in their masks, and within the delicate perfectness of the building, one of the walls is shorter than the others; a long crack seeping through its body.

 

“When I was younger, I accidentally broke this wall,” Shimada mutters. “I guess it was already falling apart from the beginning, and nobody bothered to change it. Everyone was already afraid of the Shimada Clan.”

 

They leap across the wall with ease (Angela flying after them), and end on the other side within a second. The insides of the Castle are even more beautiful than Angela had imagined. Lanterns are lowered to a dim glow, with bamboo shoots waving lazily with the breeze. The whole design of the back garden emanates a traditional feel, making Angela feel at home in a place she has never been before.

 

But it is such a big place, too big a place for a person. And although the building is beautiful, it also seems lonely. She wonders if Shimada was lonely amongst the splendour of it all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Mercy, Shimada, do you copy?” Gabriel’s voice says in her ear via comm. The both of them are huddled in a corner of the dark hallway of the Castle, anticipating the new set of guards to walk past for Shimada to take them out. Gabriel and McCree wait on the cleared floor. Everything was going accordingly and systematically.

 

“Copy that, Commander.” Angela replies in a low voice, pressing onto her comm for her voice to go through. “Currently awaiting for the next wave to come through.”

 

She lets go of the comm, and silence greets them again. Angela was admittedly worried about Shimada being back in his own home, as if it would trigger some kind of reaction from him that would be disadvantageous to the mission, but he has been his usual reserved, collected self. However, when they had these little breaks in between the action of infiltration she’d see careless slips of desolation from his demeanour. She doesn’t blame him, though. He’s already stronger than she ever is.

 

“You know,” she says softly, barely above a whisper, but enough to gain Shimada’s attention. He has his helmet off for a quick breather. “I dreamt of you, once.”

 

Shimada doesn’t respond, and at first, Angela is unfazed, as she is used to his lack of responses. It is only when she subconsciously turns to look at him staring at the ground that she realises maybe, just maybe, shrouded in the darkness of the hallways, the tips of his ears are tinged pink. She immediately blushes herself, only now noticing how suggestive that sounded.

 

“Oh no, no.” She blabbers in a hushed whisper. “I meant that… the weirdest thing was… I dreamt of a green dragon before, and it wasn’t very pleasant. The very next day, they brought you to the headquarters, all battered and bloody.”

 

Mulling over her words, he slips his helmet back on. Shimada turns to face her, looking at her as if what she said is a puzzle he can’t figure out how to solve. She can only see his eyes now, but it is still enough to tell her that he is puzzled about what she said. Well, so is she.

 

“Never mind, its weird, isn’t it,” she smiles ruefully. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

 

“Shh.” Shimada whispers, his finger pressed gently against her mouth. Stunned, she cranes her neck to hear for anything. And true enough, footsteps. Angela clamps her mouth shut, heart beating loudly in her chest. They had already gone through the same routine on the lower floor, but it is still enough to give her an adrenaline rush. Holding her caduceus staff, she projects a wispy blue beam that connects to Shimada’s body, enhancing his movements and senses. Once the pair of guards crosses their path, Shimada knocks the both of them out from behind by a sharp jab on the neck.

 

“Floor is cleared.” She presses her comm and says.

 

They wait for McCree and Gabriel to meet them when Shimada says quietly, “I don’t think it’s weird.”

 

“No?” Angela turns to him, eyebrows raised.

 

“You get nightmares,” Shimada continues. “In Japanese legend, you can call on a being called _Baku_ to devour your nightmares. It worked for me when I had bad dreams as a child.”

 

And she knows he’s just trying to make her feel better by saying something even weirder, but as the soft whirring noise of his mechanical body hums steadily amidst the silence, she thinks, maybe she has found her _Baku_ after all.

 

McCree and Gabriel catch up with them on the same floor.

 

“No signs of any alarm being raised downstairs,” Gabriel says as the four of them move along the darkened hallway. “We still have time to follow protocol.”

 

“This way,” Shimada says, turning an abrupt right into a more secluded hallway, which led to a large meeting room, lined up with traditional sliding doors. “These are the quarters of the elders.”

 

They immediately spring into action. McCree stands by the door, keeping a lookout. Gabriel searches the room for any emergency exit points and Shimada, as he insisted, walks to the elder sleeping soundly in his bed, and breaks his neck before he can even wake up.

 

Angela looks down at the ground upon hearing that sickening crack. But she knows that Shimada could have well used his sword and sliced up his jugular vein for a slow, voiceless death. Although he said he isn’t going to show mercy, he already shows plenty. He mutters something in Japanese to the lifeless corpse before regrouping with the three of them. Angela doesn’t hear it clearly, but she thinks it might be a final goodbye.

 

“One down, two more elders to go,” McCree whispers wryly, giving them a tip of his hat as they walk past him and out of the room.

 

“Don’t get distracted, they’ll pick up something’s wrong soon,” Gabriel says. They move on to the next room, sliding open the door with barely any sound. They move on to the next room, with Shimada sliding the door open silently. Splitting up around the room to do their respective roles, Angela watches as Shimada goes quietly to the body under the blankets. He removes an inch of the blanket covering the elder’s face, and immediately frowns.

 

Angela’s breath hitches in her throat. Something’s wrong.

 

Shimada instantly throws off all of the blankets, only to reveal two pillows underneath. “You spoke too soon, Commander,” Shimada growls, looking frustrated. “He knows.”

 

Gabriel curses upon seeing the pillows and an ajar window, fists knuckled white. “Shit. How did that bastard even know? We barely made a noise.”

 

“He is the smartest out of the three. He had the most power next to my father before he died.” Shimada grunts, walking briskly towards the entrance and McCree. “We must go. Now. He must’ve called backup.”

 

They immediately move out of the room in a hurry. Angela forces herself to stay calm. She’s been in emergency cases before. It will only benefit her to be calm and follow Gabriel’s lead. They barely get out of the hallway, when a crowd of footsteps noisily bursts the Castle into life. As they slip out the opposite direction, at the corner of her eye, Angela sees men in business suits with torchlights and guns securing the area they had just set foot in. She gulps.

 

“They’re looking for us,” she says in a hushed voice, the four of them breaking into a faster sprint. A shout in Japanese pierces the once quiet air.

 

“They saw us,’ Shimada says, keeping his voice steady but is clearly irked from the change in events.

 

“More guards will come from the front, we’ll be surrounded,” Gabriel growls. “Plan B is a go. Shimada and Mercy, give us some time to pave the way from the back. You keep the incoming wave of guards distracted.”

 

“Understood,” Angela replies, following Shimada as he sprints forward. She can’t lie and say her confidence in getting out of here alive isn’t dwindling, but as long as they are still willing to fight, so is she. Her Valkyrie suit springs to life as she flies after Shimada. They reach the chokepoint in front of a humongous bell where the group of guard are running in their direction. They are shocked to see the both of them so close to their vicinity, yet they do not hesitate in opening fire. Angela flinches, expecting to get hit, at least once, but she doesn’t. Shimada has his blade out, deflecting the bullets that come in their way. Some of them hit the guards, and they fall to the ground, crimson seeping through their black suits. Cherry blossom trees sway with the gentle wind. Blood stains the stoney landscape, painting red over grey. Shimada suddenly dashes forward, and Angela is stunned for a moment before flying after him, her blue beam enhancing his movements. In swift, precise _shruriken_ throws, the guards crumble to the ground with agonised groans.

 

“More will be coming,” Shimada tells her quietly. “Are you alright?”

 

“Perfect,” she replies, giving him a small smile, relieved that he is competent enough to save both their lives.

 

“Guys, route is clear,” Gabriel’s voice comes through the comm. “Regroup here. We’re leaving. The dropship is arriving at pick-up point.”

 

“Got it,” she replies, and the both of them move back quickly to where Gabriel and McCree are. The threat of guards is temporarily gone, but it isn’t long before it will become a major problem again. The alarm has been sounded, and they have to leave before they are overwhelmed. Plus, Gabriel has a bloody hip.

 

“You got shot?” Angela mutters worriedly, flying over to him.

 

“Is it obvious?” Gabriel grunts with no heat, albeit in pain.

 

He lifts his shirt slightly for Angela to peer at the wound. “It isn’t deep.” She says, placing her staff over it. A yellow beam emits around the injury site. “This will disintegrate the bullet and heal the wound in no time.”

 

“The wonders of modern medicine,” McCree mimics her, grinning.

 

She is barely done closing up the wound when more flashlights and footsteps rumble closer towards them. “We gotta go,” Gabriel says, standing up. They run out of the hallway and to the back garden where they were before, the guards hot on their tails. Loud bursts of Japanese are accompanied with gunshot sounds, a few whizzing dangerously close to her ears. Shimada manages to deflect them and hit some in the process, but it isn’t enough to get rid of all of them.

 

“We can’t outrun ‘em,” McCree shouts. “Our backs will be too vulnerable.”

 

“We have to fight,” Gabriel agrees, turning around and shooting a guard with his shotguns. “If we come out alive, I think we all earned ourselves a well-deserved break. If we don’t…it has been an honour working with you all.”

 

It is hardly a time to feel sentimental, but Angela can’t help feeling a twinge of it. Still, she holds her staff tight, determined to fight until the end. The guards come pouring in, and they swing into action. It is an intense fight, but they still had the upper hand of expertise. At times, when one of them gets hit, thankfully not in any vital areas, Angela is quick to swoop in a heal them in a second. She is with Gabriel attending to a grazed wound on his shoulder while he continues to shoot down the guards when she notices Shimada stumbling on his two feet.

 

“Oh, no,” she whispers. His leg is malfunctioning again. He is unable to move out of danger but is still getting rid of some of the guards by throwing _shurikens_ directly to their throats. There aren’t many guards left from what she sees, but there is a possibility of more backup. She flies over to him as Gabriel and McCree eliminate the remaining ones.

 

“Hey, don’t worry,” she says gently, holding the staff near to his leg. “It’ll be okay.”

 

“Thanks,” Shimada mutters. “It couldn’t work again suddenly.”

 

 _“Young master? Is that you?”_ A weak voice says in Japanese. A guard peers at them with heavy-lidded eyes, lying on the ground near them in a messy pool of blood.

 

It is hard to read Shimada’s expression with his helmet on, but he does not say a word, choosing to stare at the space between the air and the man. The guard chuckles. A low, halting, gut-wrenching laugh that unsettles Angela at the very least. 

 

 _“Oh, young master. You look different, you came back from the dead,_ ” he mocks between gurgles of blood spilling out of his mouth. Shimada does not reply, but by Shimada’s closed fists, Angela knows he’s trying not to lose control of his emotions. She bites the inside of her cheek, silently willing Shimada not to give in to the guard’s taunts.

 

 _“Shimada-dono is gone. There is no one to protect you now,”_ the guard continues in a wiry sneer.

 

All of a sudden, he lifts up a gun he had been hiding and shakily, he points it at them.

 

_“Traitor.”_

 

Angela doesn’t know what hits her first; the ground, or the pain. A gunshot sound pierces the sky before they can react, and in an instant, she’s knocked back by an invisible force in slow motion. Her body crumbles onto the ground like a falling leaf, every sound around her on a deafening mute. Shimada’s arms immediately hold her, his panicked face the only thing she can focus her blurring vision on. She has never seen him this alarmed before. He’s yelling something at her, but she can’t really hear him. ‘Don’t die on me’, he seems to plead desperately, but Angela isn’t sure. She just wants to close her eyes now. Make the pain blossoming at her abdomen to go away. Cherry blossom trees sway with the gentle wind. Blood stains the stoney landscape, painting red over grey.

 

“Angela!” She hears McCree screaming. Strangely, it is loud and clear.

 

Black dots crawl over her vision, and the last thing she sees is Shimada’s widened eyes upon hearing her name.

 

A full moon smiles on them overhead, an ominous glow in the sea of black.

 

Unnaturally round and bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a revelation! her name!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well storm rising has given us all a lot of gency :'") 
> 
> so i created a [blog](https://httpgency.tumblr.com/) for gency so yeah! i'd love to talk :-)

The world is wide and it is great and lonely. It starts to rain from a starless night sky, each drop a regret that was too late to change. As such, the sky sews itself together with the water she stands on. The world is wide and it is great and lonely, and what remains is the wistful thinking of _what if?_

 

_You should have told him you liked him._

 

Angela shakes her head. “That is impossible,” she tells the shadows, smiling wryly. “The last thing he’d need is another burden.”

 

 _How noble. You think I wouldn’t know the real reason?_ The voice sneers back. _I am you._

 

Angela falters, unable to retaliate.

 

_You were scared he doesn’t feel the same._

 

“Because I know he doesn’t,” Angela snaps. “Leave me alone.”

 

 _You are right, he does not share your sentiments, but look at how your affection for him has bloomed._ The voice taunts. Angela glances at the cherry blossom tree, now fully grown, flower petals dancing slowly with gravity. She feels her face grow hot. For the first time, she wishes the water she stands on would pull her into her nightmares. Sadly, things do not go her way, even in her own consciousness.

 

In the once cold, desolate void, entangled with the many raindrops of regrets, pink petals float on the water like a constellation. Branches stretch out to the darkness, painting the emptiness that once touched the ends. Ethereal in its full being, she had no clue she could dream up something this beautiful. Warmth radiates from the tree like spring after a winter day, pulling Angela in; beckoning her to come closer, luring her to give in.

 

And she does. She walks towards it as if in a trance, hungry and captivated. The water near the tree hums with life. She presses a hand on the trunk, the warm sensation sparking every nerve. To her surprise, her hand is much smaller than it originally is. She stares at herself on the water’s reflection, and the very same image of that day greets Anglea. Her thirteen year old face mirrors the odd serenity she feels. The reflection of the moon behind her, glowing in anticipation. The calm before the storm.

 

But this time, hand still touching the cherry blossom tree, Angela allows herself to fall instead.

 

She’s plunged into the water, back first, and this is all too similar. Arms flailing, grasping for oxygen, a mind too full of _what ifs?_. Her vision starts to blur and fade out faintly, when the sound of another splash is heard. It is dark, a darkness she’s befriended by knowing too well. However, before she blacks out entirely, there is a sliver of light.

 

It isn’t white, nor fiery amber like a rising sun. It is a small, faraway star. And between the seams of her consciousness, Angela realises that this apparent star is green.

 

It swims towards her at inhumane speed, in a haphazard line. She sees a boy, enveloped in the protection of a bright glowing entity. She knows what it is, she’s seen it before in paintings. She smiles, oddly enough in her predicament. _A dragon_.

 

The last thing she sees is the boy’s face, raw with desperation and fruitless perseverance, before closing her eyes and thinking that she’s seen that panicked expression before.

 

It is more than few moments of silent darkness before she coughs up the water plugging her lungs. The sounds around her become painfully clear in a sudden second.

 

“ _How...the girl..._ ” Japanese sentences come all around her, making her head hurt.

 

_“...save...drown?”_

 

“Please! Step aside, this is my daughter!” Her mother’s English pierces through the conversations of Japanese. Angela’s eyes immediately open, and she squints, coughing up more water.

 

Hands instantly hold her back, helping her to sit up. She heaves, her eyes tearing on instinct. She finds herself face to face with her saviour. The small boy, whose black hair is damp and sticking to his forehead. An _oni_ mask lies lopsidedly at the side of his face. He stares at her with an unusual extent of worry for a stranger. Though he looks so achingly familiar, she can’t seem to picture a name to his face. Needle-like pain stabs her head. She winces.

 

“Are you alright, Angela?” He asks in perfect English, only making her more confused as to why he can speak it so fluently. “Your head is bleeding!”

 

“I...” she groans, rubbing her temples. “Who... who _are_ you?”

 

The boy’s face falls, both puzzled and hurt. Guilt instantly grips her at the heart. He knows her name, but she doesn’t know his. In fact, she doesn’t even know where she is now, like why there are cherry blossom trees behind this crowd of foreign people-

 

 _Am I in Japan_? She thinks dizzily.

 

 _“Excuse me! Please let me through! That is my daughter!”_ Her mother’s broken Japanese brings her back to reality, albeit a fuzzy one. The area above her nape hurts. Her hand instinctively touches it, cringing in pain when she feels the slick stickiness of blood.

 

Her mother arrives at her side, face contorted with panic, her hands wrapping Angela in a tight hug. _“An ambulance is coming, Angie,”_ she whispers reassuringly in German. “ _Stay with me_.”

 

But she is numb with confusion and maybe having a slight concussion, limp in the arms of her mother. She closes her eyes, allowing herself to drift away in her mother’s embrace. It is warm.

 

“ _You’ve got to stay with me, Angela_ ,” her mother frantically pats her on her side, not allowing her to sleep. She frowns, dazed and faint, opening her eyes in frustration.

 

The sound of the ambulance draws closer, making her mother scoop her up in her arms and bring her closer towards the sound and away from the concerned crowd.

 

“You’ve got to wake up, Angela,” she whispers quickly in English. “Come on, wake up, okay?”

 

As Angela faces the crowd, she notices a small boy slip his _oni_ mask over his face, concealing an inexplicable expression of hurt, before dissolving in the mess of the crowd and disappearing from her blurry sight.

 

“Wake up, Angela!” her mother’s voice brings her back groggily.

 

Angela furrows her eyebrows, wondering why her mother was so persistent. She’s practically dying to sleep. Fatigue clings onto her like weighted chains.

 

_“Wake up!”_

 

The urgency of her mother’s voice knocks a breath out of her. When Angela does open her eyes again, she is blinded by a bright light. She winces, and for a second, she thinks, _am I dead?_

 

But once the dazzling of her vision fades, Angela finds herself squinting at a white ceiling, the faces of Ana and McCree peering at her in relief. McCree breaks out into a full grin, while Ana has a small smile on her lips, but it is clear that they’re ecstatic.

 

Angela feels as if she is on a dull high, between the state of sleep and consciousness. It is a numbing dissociation from her own body. Her mind fades and comes back in a frustrating battle.

 

“ _I... Where am I?_ ” She mumbles in German, still disconnected from her surroundings.

 

“Get Reinhardt,” Ana tells McCree, who nods and erases himself from Angela’s sight.

 

She lies there, unfeeling, but once Angela regains her senses and her touch with reality, everything starts to hurt. She whimpers, though too weak to move, and tries to distract herself from the pain by focusing on the soft caress of Ana’s hand on her hair. Her mind feels fuzzy and blotchy, with bits and pieces of her memory scattered.

 

Reinhardt thunders in, heavy footsteps making Angela glance at his figure walking into the room.

 

 _“Angela, how are you feeling?”_ he says as softly as he can in their mother tongue, a hand gently resting on hers.

 

“ _Like it can’t get any worse,_ ” she replies feebly, cracking a wry ghost of a smile. “ _What happened?”_

 

Reinhardt exchanges glances with Ana and McCree, both confused as to what their conversation is about. “ _You...got shot,_ ” he says slowly. “ _The Blackwatch strike team barely got out of Hanamura alive.”_

 

“I remember.” Angela says quietly, closing her eyes in an attempt to piece together her thoughts despite the pain. “Is everyone alright?” she asks in English, voice coarse. She coughs.

 

Silence answers her, and an unsettling feeling rests under her skin. She opens her eyes, frowning at Reinhardt who shares a nervous look with McCree. “Tell me,” she demands, trying to sit up, but the pain at her side jolts alive as she moves, making her grunt in pain and going back to her original position.

 

“We know nothin’ can get past you, doc,” McCree chuckles, but it comes out flat. “We were just hopin’ you’d stabilize more before we told you.”

 

“Tell me about what?” she presses, anxiety crawling up her throat. Her head pounds like a drum; an agonizing tempo.

 

“About Gabriel,” Ana says gently, wrapping Angela’s hand in her’s, but there is a layer of vulnerability in the Captain’s voice. “He isn’t dead, but...He got injured in pretty much all the bad places.”

 

Upon hearing this, a weight drops itself onto her gut. It is all her fault for being careless. “Where is he,” she sits up, gritting her teeth to withstand the pain. Reinhardt immediately holds her still, trying to prevent her from moving further. “Let go of me! I must attend to him at once!”

 

“You will do no such thing, Doctor Ziegler,” Ana says firmly, voice raised. “You are in no position to heal anyone but yourself at the moment.”

 

“Then who is?” She asks, skin prickling with frustration. “Please tell me it is you.” She knows Gabriel would be in good hands if Ana were to attend to him. So why did she sound so uncertain?

 

Ana sighs, folding her arms. The air is thick with unspoken tension and unanswered questions.

 

“Before the operation commenced, Gabriel scouted someone to take over your place in lieu of future Blackwatch operations,” Ana tells her as Reinhardt gently lets go. “He knew that Blackwatch wasn’t you and, well, they needed a medic of their own in the strike team. So, he found a highly renowned scientist who’s research had shut down due to eccentric and unethical reasons, and made her the offer.”

 

“Why... why would he scout someone like that?” Angela asks weakly.

 

Ana shrugs, looking as unsettled as her. “Beats me. She came as soon as she heard that Gabriel was in a dangerous predicament. Showed us a contract he signed with her, allowing her medical intervention for him should the need arise. Which it did. Her name is Doctor Moira O’Deorain.”

 

“Jack’s pissed,” McCree quips. “Apparently he didn’t know that Gabriel made that deal. That was real unusual.”

 

“Then where is he now, have you all seen him since?” Angela mutters, glancing at all of them.

 

Ana shakes her head. “No, he’s in her lab set up in Blackwatch facilities, and there’s nothing we can do about it. The contract is real and foolproof.”

 

“Even Jack hasn’t seen him?”

 

“Even Jack.” Ana confirms, and Angela notices a twinge of despondency in her voice. Her frustration towards Gabriel’s decision; it is at the back of everyone’s minds.

 

Angela keeps silent, before blurting out the question that has been nudging at her tongue from the every start.

 

“And Shimada?”

 

“He is well, dear,” Ana says, albeit hesitantly. “He just...refuses to visit you.”

 

“He ain’t givin’ us his name too,” McCree scoffs. “Says he wants to go by Shimada now.”

 

“And his whereabouts are unknown at the moment. Athena has confirmed that he is within the base’s perimeter, but has made an agreement with him to not be contacted by anyone else unless it is an emergency.” Ana adds.

 

“Oh.” Angela mumbles, unable to hold the disappointment that slips into her tone.

 

McCree pats her back, curling his lip back in pity. “Y’know, he’s actually the one that saved you. Saved all of us, in fact.”

 

Angela’s eyebrows raise, surprised. “How did we get out of there? It was madness.”

 

“T’was the first time I’ve seen anything like it,” McCree says, eyes gleaming. “Wiped out a whole wave, just like that.” he snaps his fingers. “Once you were shot, he went crazy. Carried you in his arms and brought you over to us.”

 

“He did?”

 

McCree nods. “Gave us time to start helping you across the wall. It was like his whole body started to glow a fiery green, and when he drew his sword, a dragon appeared around it.”

 

“He once told me he called it his last resort,” Ana adds. “Can’t use it often.”

 

McCree moves his arms animatedly, clearly still in awe of the scene that he witnessed. “And I finally gotta see it. Shimada got rid of the remaining guards like they were nothing. He was so fast I barely saw a damn thing!”

 

A green dragon. The memories seep themselves into her mind with a painful jolt, scenes of Hanamura flashing vividly in front of her eyes. A boy swimming towards her desperately, enveloped in a bright green entity. A dragon’s head, fierce and fearless, mouth bared in a silent roar. His small arms carrying her up to the surface with inhumane strength, green flames licking at her skin and clothes without scorching them. His wet hair, his concerned face, the mystical entity fading away like cherry blossom petals with the winter wind.

 

The boy’s warm brown eyes turning cold as she struggles to remember his name.

 

“Genji,” she says abruptly, blank and aloud. The name rolls off her tongue like it had been waiting for this very moment ever since. Tears well up behind her eyelashes, the sudden realization hitting her harder than she expected. Angela turns to McCree and the others with overwhelming emotion, as they stare at her in confusion.

 

“His name is Genji.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her memories come back to her in unmoving saturated pictures, reliving everything from that day she got shot. The guard’s shaky hand missing his intended target and landing her instead. Angela can still recall the exploding pain on her sideand Shimada’s panicked face inches away from her’s. That desperation dissolving into shock when McCree yells out her name. 

 

He knows her name. Angela’s heart skips a beat, and butterflies in her stomach flutter in a disorganized orientation. Shimada knows her name. He must remember her, as she has now remembered him. She’ll apologise for all the years she had spent forgetting. He’ll welcome her back into his life with open arms. She can finally reconcile with her childhood friend; the one who she’d found her way back to, the man of her dreams.

 

I must see him immediately, she tells them. Tell him it is an emergency. Tell him I want to see him.

 

We already have, they reply, despite their curiosity in her sudden shift in energy. But he does not want to see you right now.

 

“Why?” She asks, surprised and upset, her voice breaking on that single syllable.

 

McCree pauses. His eyes shift upwards for a second in thought before replying her. “When I asked him before he disappeared, he said its ‘cause you’re... _you_.”

 

Her company is obviously clueless as to what Shimada meant, but Angela knows better. Her heart tightens at McCree’s words, and she falters, bemused and dejected. Of course he wouldn’t want to see her. _You are right_ , she says to the voice in her head _._ It eagerly agrees with her. _He hates you. He hates you for forgetting him. He hates you for being a burden._

 

_He hates you because you are you._

 

It is odd. She had always thought that if she had ever met Genji again, it’d be at least a happy occasion. However, she feels that it is everything but. Ana watches Angela as her shoulders slump and she leans back on the bed in a tired heap. She knows better than to ask. To which Angela is grateful for, Ana pulls Reinhardt out of the room, muttering something about a status report to Jack.

 

McCree also senses the dip in Angela’s mood, but being the stubborn friend that he is, instead of leaving her alone with her self-loathing thoughts, he sits on the edge of her bed. He fills her in the rest of the details once Ana and Reinhardt leave. Thanks to Shimada, whom Angela is privately adamant about being Genji, they managed to lose the guards halfway through the designated route. However, assassins were deployed and caught up with them, managing to almost kill Gabriel until Shimada was able to fend them off.

 

“We kept the both of you barely alive with your staff but neither of us knew how to use it,” McCree smiles wryly. “Hell, you were lucky Sojourn flew the dropship back to base as fast as she could.”

 

“So Shimada’s leg was okay?” Angela asks.

 

“He was in bad shape too. Told me the dragon amplifies basically his entire body, but it doesn’t last forever. Back at base he had to use your staff to fix his leg again.”

 

So he’s wandering around God knows where with a spoilt leg as well. Angela can’t help but worry, but she pushes these feelings down in front of McCree. He, however, seems to know her situation a bit more than she would like him to. But unlike Ana who chooses to respect Angela’s silence on the obvious _thing_ between her and Shimada, the guy just has to prod even further.

 

“Hey now,” McCree drawls, eyes meeting her’s steadily. “Didn’t you mention Shimada’s name a minute ago? Genji...ain’t it?”

 

“That’s just an indefinite guess,” Angela mutters, feeling her face grow hot. “But he wants to be known as Shimada now, anyway.”

 

“There’s somethin’ goin’ on with you two,” McCree mumbles blankly, not in a teasing tone. “‘Cause he ain’t telling it to any of us.”

 

“There’s nothing going on, he just mentioned it to me before,” Angela says quietly. Her hands are cold, and she clasps them together for warmth. But ironically enough, human skin doesn’t feel quite as welcoming as the smoothness of a metal hand.

 

“Clearly it is a mistake that he regrets now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She lies awake in the darkness, outlining various human organs on her ceiling. _Ten thousand… nine thousand… eight thousand…_

 

It doesn’t work for her anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jack comes in a few days later when it is dark and technically speaking, no visitors are allowed, but Angela’s grateful that he’s made the effort. The past few days were sleepless nights for Angela, who can no longer sleep in full silence anymore. She asked Torbjörn for one of his small robots in hopes that the soft noise would help her drift off into slumber. It isn’t the same, though, and she lies awake staring blankly at the ceiling as the same whirring noise flutters around the room. So she is happy for someone to forget her insomnia. However, it is clear that he needs her company more than she needs his, and she knows the very reason why.

 

“You don’t have to say I told you so,” he mutters at her doorway, clad in a shirt that suspiciously looks like Gabriel’s. “You don’t have to say anything at all.”

 

“About you allowing Gabriel to do anything on his whim?” Angela replies, smiling sadly. She huffs as she rests her head on her pillow, staring at the blank ceiling. “I would’ve done the same in your shoes.”

 

Jack scoffs out a laugh, walking into the room and leaning on the pillar beside her ward bed. “You wouldn’t. You’re too by the book.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, she looks at him with an expectant look. He frowns, confused by her indifference.

 

“I’m not that innocent, Strike Commander. I’ve broken a few rules for someone before. Just like you.”

 

“Should I ask?” Jack replies, whilst sighing and staring out of the huge window that made up a wall in Special Ward 01. Yes, they had made Shimada’s previous accommodation her’s now, though she doesn’t have a clue as to why. Well, maybe due to the fact that she was seconds away from dying, and the Special Ward was perfect for such emergencies. She’d at least hope that a trace of him lingers in the room he used to spend all of his days. At least Jack had a shirt with Gabriel’s scent. Metal doesn’t really leave the same thing on the bed she lies on. Nothing remains. It is as if he was never here in the first place.

 

“No,” Angela laughs dryly, a bittersweet look on her face as she stares at her palms. “But let’s just say that we’ve both screwed up.”

 

Jack meets her eyes, and she sees that he mirrors the same expression she has. “Is it weird that I still trust him?” he says, barely above a whisper. “There’s still a part of me that thinks whatever he’s doing is still… right, in his own way.”

 

“You don’t even know if he is still alive,” Angela tells him, trying to be rational. “You don’t even know what that… doctor is doing with him.”

 

Jack scowls, his features hardening. “Oh, she will bring him back. Alive. And if she fails, she won’t be.”

 

“Have you tried to see him?” Angela asks quietly.

 

“…Yes. But the doctor is smart as she is evasive.” He rubs the back of his head as he looks down. “I don’t even know why I bothered to try. I was angry at first. At her. But I know I really should be angry at him. The whole thing is just so absurd. I mean, we went through the whole Soldier Enhancement Program, but it doesn’t mean he should keep experimenting on his body.”

 

Angela listens to Jack in silence as he pours his thoughts out aloud, but it is mostly to himself than to her.

 

“What if…” Jack glances at her, unsettled, but she knows that really, he is afraid. “What if he’s…changed?”

 

That is most certainly the case, whether Gabriel comes out successful or not. The image of a small grinning boy, mouth wide and showing the whites of his teeth, ripples at the back of her vision. Slowly, the boy morphs into a man, metal to the bone, that signature grin replaced by a small smile that warms her from the inside.

 

“It might not necessarily be a bad thing.” She mutters, but it is mostly to herself than to him.

 

Jack sighs. “You might be right, Angela.” He looks at her with an inscrutable expression, glancing at her abdomen. “Your wound has fully healed?”

 

“Yes, in the process of scar removal,” Angela replies, smiling tightly as the ghost of its taut pain pulls at her skin. “I am good to walk, but well, you know how much of a worrywart Ana is.”

 

Jack nods, understandingly. “In that case, you should take a stroll behind headquarters. I heard that the weather is particularly nice tonight.”

 

“I-“ Angela pauses, eyeing Jack suspiciously. “What are you saying?”

 

Jack shrugs as he folds his arms together, tilting his head slightly. “Athena can keep a deal, Mercy. But nothing gets past me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When her feet touch the floor, it is cool. She almost recoils in shock of the cold. With a deep breath, heartbeat ringing loudly in her ears, she presses her whole sole onto the ground. She counts her steps, and the counting gradually gets faster, with her out of the ward and hurried steps down the hallway. Angela knows that Shimada is blatantly avoiding her, but she can’t avoid him. Not now, not when she’s so close to Genji.

 

“I can’t lose you again. Not like this.” she whispers to herself, trying to run, only to pause and wince at the twinge of pain stabbing at her wound. Looks like she can’t do it just yet. She stumbles to the door that leads to the forest, hand and eyes over the security radar, the box turning green as the door opens with a ‘whoosh’. The grass tickles her bare feet, the wind flitting between her patient robes.

 

Angela breathes in the husky smell of pine and dew, her heart caving into crescents. At first, she looks around hurriedly, hoping for just a glimpse of Shimada. Jack implied that he’d be here. And Jack never lies to her. But there is nothing. Before her stands only the darkness and trees, while above her a brightly lit sky. Her eyes darting in between the forest trunks, hands clenched in anticipation.

 

“I know you can hear me,” she says to the quiet air. “I know you are here.”

 

The wind whispers back, as the silhouettes of leaves weave in and out of one another. Angela ducks her head as she wraps her arms together, slightly embarrassed at her disheveled state.

 

“I also know you don’t want to see me,” she continues bitterly. “And I think I know the reason why.”

 

Angela talks, trusting her gut that Shimada is out there somewhere, listening to her, looking at her from the shadows that he is so good at hiding in. Regret pulls at her heartstrings, pushing out unwanted tears.

 

“But _please_ ,” she cries, looking around desolately. “Won’t you let me look at you just once?”

 

Nothing.

 

“ _Genji_.”

 

Still nothing.

 

“I remember you,” she says quietly, desperate for any answer from him. “I’m sorry I forgot who you were then. I’m sorry I forgot to write to you. I’m sorry...for everything. I know it’s too late to change the past. And it had caught up with the present.”

 

Angela swallows her hesitation, eyes still wandering around for an outline of a metal body. It is fruitless, though, even underneath the gleam of a smiling moon, as he has the skills of an undetectable assassin.

 

“I had thought that the end of us already came,” she smiles, bittersweet. “But I didn’t know I’m still chasing it all this while.”

 

No answer. Frustrated, Angela lets out a sigh, looking around her. The cold laps at her skin, and she stops herself from shivering. Wrapping her arms around herself even tighter, she gently prods a tree with her foot as she fidgets in her disappointment.

 

“I’ll be going now,” she says aloud to the trees. Her voice softens. “Just be safe. Wherever you are.”

 

Angela waits for a few seconds, willing even a whisper back, but only the wind talks. It should've been expected as much. There's only herself to blame for raising her hopes up. Angela looks down sadly, biting the bottom of her lip, and turns around to the direction of the entrance back into headquarters, ready for another sleepless night with her ceiling and the blank walls.

 

But at once, she stops short. Angela's heart almost skips a beat, her breath hitched in her throat.

 

In front of her, stands a man. The metallic parts of his body glisten under the moonlight, headgear off to show black hair sweeping across his brow and the scars running across his face. Mouth set in a tight line, his brown eyes lock on her’s with overwhelming familiarity and emotion. Angela gapes at him, her own eyes wide, too stunned to say anything.

 

He says a line to her in Japanese; one she had heard before and didn’t understand, but now she can recognise it more than anything. Tears spill down Angela’s cheeks, as she continues to stare at him in disbelief.

 

_“Why did you kick the tree?”_


End file.
